


The Secret Garden

by Athenowl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Secret Garden - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Good Peter Pettigrew, Indian James Potter, M/M, Plants are good for the soul, Welsh Remus Lupin, aka garden metaphors galore, we stan healthy growth and friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25496764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athenowl/pseuds/Athenowl
Summary: “Are you the son of Walburga and Orion Black?”“They’re dead, aren’t they.” It wasn’t a question.“I’m afraid so. My deepest condolences. Is there anyone else here I might have a word with?”Sirius knew his parents were dying. He had known since they returned from yet another extravagant party and fell ill within the hour. He had known since his mother collapsed and the fabric of her second-best evening gown glittered like falling stars while his father called for a doctor. He had known since the few remaining servants packed their things and ran, leaving him alone in the empty house.Sirius had known his parents were dying for two and a half days. He just hadn’t expected them to be dead.---AKA: Sirius Black has little impulse control and all-consuming curiosity. This combination makes it impossible for him to ignore secret passages, hidden gardens, and weeping deep in his uncle's house.A Secret Garden AU
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 75
Kudos: 86





	1. The House Upon the Hill

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! I rewatched the 1993 version of this movie, read the book, then went on a nostalgia trip that made me write like a possessed typewriter. I adored this story when I was a kid and my brain went "hmmmm what if..." , so I hope you enjoy this mashup of book, movie, and musical! Please leave comments and kudos--not only do they make my day, they encourage me to keep writing <3

“Are you the son of Walburga and Orion Black?”

“They’re dead, aren’t they.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m afraid so. My deepest condolences. Is there anyone else here I might have a word with?”

“No. Unless you have other news, you may leave now.” Sirius knew his parents were dying. He had known since they returned from yet another extravagant party and fell ill within the hour. He had known since his mother collapsed and the fabric of her second-best evening gown glittered like falling stars while his father called for a doctor. He had known since the few remaining servants packed their things and ran, leaving him alone in the empty house.

Sirius had known his parents were dying for two and a half days. He just hadn’t expected them to be _dead_.

The man at the door twisted his hat anxiously. “I’ll be back tomorrow with—”

Sirius slammed the door in his face. He was so _tired_ all of a sudden, more than he usually was in the stifling dampness of India. He was sad, too, but only a little—it wasn’t as if his parents’ deaths would make much of a difference in his daily life. The only real change would be the loss of the house servants that cared for Sirius while his parents were out.

Anger bubbled sudden and hot in his throat and he threw the closest object at the opposite wall with a shout of frustration. A little ivory elephant broke apart as it hit the ground and skidded back toward his feet, staring up with vacant eyes. Sirius’ anger twisted into something new and raw, and he dropped to his knees on the gritty stone. The ivory bits were cool in his palms against the feelings that threatened to burn him from the inside out in their complicated web; the delicacy of the silly thing shocked him. His mother used to sit by her collection of the statues for hours and Sirius never understood why she never bought new ones.

Then again, his parents did many things he did not understand.

He knelt for more than half an hour, his ears buzzing with static as he gathered the pieces of the elephant with shaking hands. The wall clock chimed and his knees ached when he plodded off to his bedroom without really thinking about it. Despite the late afternoon heat that made it impossible to settle beneath his blankets, Sirius couldn’t stop shivering; he clutched his pillow in one hand, the elephant in the other, and tried to remember how to cry before realizing he never learned how.

Mr. Slughorn, the hat-twisting man, did indeed return, this time with a large briefcase and a tall companion named Mr. Riddle. Sirius disliked them on sight and attempting to speak to them did not make it better—they barely acknowledged him and brushed off every attempt at an adult conversation. They decided to stick him with a foster family despite his protests, and within the hour they had ushered him into a carriage with a single suitcase of his belongings. Malfoy Manor was smaller than Grimmauld Place, but he didn’t hold that against them. The children, however, he could hear shrieking from half a kilometer away. “No.”

“I’m sorry, Sirius, but until we find your family you need a place to stay.” Mr. Riddle spoke slowly, like he was talking to an infant—Sirius wanted to physically kick him out of the carriage.

“Then let me stay at my house.”

“You won’t be an adult for three years, which means I would be breaking the law if I let you stay there. Please get out of the carriage.”

“Make me.”

Unfortunately, they did. Mr. Riddle heaved a sigh and grabbed Sirius’ suitcase, tossing it outside with a thud while Slughorn all but dragged him out with little sympathy. Riddle frowned and dusted his hands on his trousers. “I sincerely hope your attitude improves and that we never meet again.”

Sirius was livid. “Burn in hell.”

Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were rarely present, which Sirius simultaneously celebrated and regretted. He didn’t care for adults: they laughed too loud, made him wear itchy clothes, and ignored him at every opportunity. Still, children were far worse, and the Malfoy troupe was especially unpleasant.

Lucius was the only one who actually lived in the house, but his cronies took pleasure in tormenting Sirius as often as possible in their own unique ways; Mulciber, for example, liked to chase him around the grounds, while the Lestrange brothers and Rosier preferred more physical attacks. Sirius quickly learned to hone his sharp tongue and snap out insults that hurt more than any kick or punch. He stayed at Malfoy Manor for twenty-two days, and by the end of it the boys avoided him like jackals circling a rattlesnake on all but their worst days.

Mr. Riddle returned near the end of the month and went directly to Mr. Malfoy’s office, but not before Sirius stared him down for the long walk down the hall from his place at the base of the staircase. He was pleased to see the man’s shoulders shift with discomfort. “They’re going to kick you out,” Lucius said in a singsong voice behind him. “The lawyers found your uncle in England. Father says he’s a reclusive hunchback who hates children.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“My father doesn’t hate children, and he’s _not_ a cripple.”

“Of course he hates children, just look at you,” Sirius scoffed.

Lucius’ breathing went shallow with rage and a sick sense of satisfaction filled Sirius’ gut, much like the time he made Rosier cry with a pointed comment about his ratlike features. “They’re going to kick you out because you’re rude and nobody wants you, not anyone in all of India or anywhere else, and I’ll be glad to see you go.”

Finally, Sirius turned and looked Lucius dead in the eye. “Not as glad as I’ll be to leave this place so I don’t have to see you, you pampered, sniveling brat.”

The blotchy flush on Lucius’ neck spread to his ears and he stormed off to go whine to his friends. Sirius was perfectly happy to leave Malfoy Manor and even happier to leave India—he hated the heat, the rain, the humidity, and especially the people. The adults talked for seventeen more minutes while Sirius decorated the pure white wall with as many scuffs as he could until Mr. Malfoy entered the hallway. “Sirius, Mr. Riddle has some very exciting news for you.”

Sirius continued to kick the wall.

“I’ll take it from here, Abraxas,” the lawyer said smoothly as Mr. Malfoy’s pale brows rose in shock. “Thank you for all you’ve done, but I’m afraid the boy can be quite wild at times. Young man, we found your uncle. He lives in England and you’ll be boarding the next boat with the other orphans whose parents were taken in the cholera outbreak.”

Sirius scowled. “They weren’t ‘taken’, they’re dead.”

“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Malfoy gasped, looking personally offended.

“You heard me.”

“You’re a very strange boy, Sirius Black.” Mr. Riddle cocked his head and Sirius pressed his lips tightly together. “I recommend you collect your things.”

He contemplated just leaving his luggage behind for the Malfoys to deal with, but the idea of Lucius’ gang touching his stuff was nauseating and he stomped up the stairs, making sure each step was loud enough to echo. It was childish and made his feet hurt, but the vindication was worth it. He packed his suitcase and satchel, cast a final rude gesture at Lucius Malfoy when he passed him in the yard, and entered the dusty carriage without a single word.

“You certainly seem different than the last time we saw each other.” Mr. Riddle said as they set off, sounding amused. “I thought putting you with boys your own age might soothe the savage beast, so to speak. Evidently, it did not.”

Sirius lifted his chin and glared. “That’s bold of you to say, you sadistic bastard.”

“From what I’ve heard, that kind of attitude has no place at your uncle’s manor.”

“Good.” Sirius stared out the window until everything blurred together in great blobs of tan and green, making it impossible to tell where the horizon began. He refused to say anything more to the snakelike lawyer.

He smelled the dock before he saw it—the stench of fish and smoke made him wrinkle his nose and they pulled into the loading station ten minutes later. Mr. Riddle handed Sirius his papers with a ‘good luck’ and a tip of his hat, then simply left. It was easy enough to find the ship, considering a sailor on an apple box bellowed “Orphans over here!” through a megaphone every few minutes. It took a ridiculous amount of self-control to not shove him off his perch.

The boat ride itself was long, disgusting, and truly the worst experience of Sirius’ life. He was packed in with two hundred children between the ages of five and seventeen, and most of them were afflicted with terrible seasickness. If they weren’t groaning about aching bellies, they were crying incessantly for their parents who were obviously not going to rescue them. Naturally, he did not set out to make friends and sat alone for 90 percent of the journey. For the other ten percent, he was accompanied by a boy named Peter Pettigrew.

Peter Pettigrew was cheerful, persistent, and seemed to think all of Sirius’ mean comments were dry humor. In an odd turn of events, Sirius actually enjoyed having him around. They ate meals together every day and sat on the upper deck to escape the suffocating heat inside the hull, and on several occasions, Peter almost made him laugh.

“Why did you want to be friends with me in the first place?” Sirius asked on one of the final days of their voyage. “I’m not nice.”

Peter stared out over the endless water for a moment. “Because you looked lonely, sitting there all by yourself and scowling. You’re not particularly nice, no, but I think you could be if you wanted to. Besides, I think everyone could use a friend once in a while.”

 _A friend_. The deep-seated ache in his chest subsided for the first time since…well, _ever_. Sirius let the words flow through him as gulls wheeled overhead and he tried to forget that when they docked, he probably wouldn’t see Peter again. “Thanks, Pete.”

Peter bumped him on the shoulder. “You just gave me a nickname! That means we’re friends, Siri.”

“Don’t call me Siri,” he protested weakly, unable to push down a small smile.

They docked in England three days later and thankfully, the fish smell was not nearly as encompassing as in India. “Number 41, Mary MacDonald!” A girl with bouncy curls broke free of the clump they had been herded into and ran to an elderly couple who waved as the director called her name. “Number 42, Peter Pettigrew!”

Sirius’ stomach plummeted as Peter hurried forward, hesitated, and sent an encouraging smile his way. A young man with sandy blond hair pushed to the front of the crowd of adults. “Peter, over here!”

“Bye, Sirius!” Peter looked away and threw himself into the arms of the young man, who enveloped him in a tight hug. When they disappeared into the hive of families, the ache returned with a vengeance and Sirius swallowed around the lump in his throat, drawing himself up to his full height. He was from the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black—he should never have allowed himself to get attached.

“Number 43, Sirius Black!” A beat of silence, then two. Adults craned their necks and waved to other children, but none stepped forward to claim Sirius. The director looked down and gestured for him to move to the front of the crowd, then cleared his throat and picked up his megaphone. “Number 43, Sirius Black!” Giggles spread in a wave behind him and Sirius gritted his teeth, determined not to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. “Go sit over there until someone comes for you. Number 44, Marlene McKinnon!”

The laughter continued as Sirius walked to a set of decrepit wooden benches on the other side of the podium with as much dignity as he could muster. The afternoon passed into evening, and then into night, until the director’s voice was hoarse and everyone besides the night watchman was gone. Not a single child had joined Sirius on the benches. “From India, then? That cholera outbreak was a nasty business, innit?” The director sat down on the adjacent bench with a sigh. Sirius remained silent and pointedly trained his gaze on the dusty, grimy floor. “You don’t talk much, Sirius Black.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Sirius bit out, his patience wearing thin already. If his parents had ever listened to him once in their lives, they would have been appalled by his lack of manners.

The director snorted. “If your guardian doesn’t come for you by midnight, I have to take you to an inn for the night. Don’t know many that’ll take you with that attitude, though.”

“Then I’ll stay here.”

The sharp _click-clack_ of heeled boots echoed off the station walls and a tall woman wearing a large hat came around the corner, walking briskly toward them. “This is Sirius Black, I presume?” Her voice was as brittle as her piercing blue gaze.

“Indeed it is, ma’am.” The director stood and tipped his hat. “Who might you be?”

“My name is Minerva McGonagall and I’m the head housekeeper at Fleamont Potter’s home. Mr. Potter is the boy’s guardian.” She looked down at Sirius and raised an eyebrow. “He’s rather sallow, isn’t he? I heard his father was quite handsome, but I can’t see the resemblance. Can we go now, or is there more paperwork?”

The director stared at her for a moment, dumbstruck, then held out a large ledger. “Sign here please, ma’am.”

“Come along,” Minerva McGonagall ordered as she scribbled her signature and handed the ledger back. “It’s a long journey and dilly-dallying will not be tolerated.” Sirius scrambled to collect his suitcase and carrying bag as she set off once more at a rapid pace, practically jogging to keep up. He could feel the director’s pity prickling the back of his neck and decided that wherever Mistress McGonagall was taking him, it had to be better than this place. “I suppose you’d like to know more about your new home?”

“Would I?”

“Don’t you care about where you’re going?”

“It doesn’t matter if I care or not, does it?”

McGonagall shot him an appraising glance. “Not really. Your uncle certainly won’t trouble himself to explain it all to you, anyway.”

“I didn’t even know I had an uncle.” Walburga and Orion never spoke of siblings or grandparents, aside from the occasional lesson on old-money families—they simply didn’t have the time.

“Technically, you don’t. Your mother and Mr. Potter’s wife, Euphemia, were the best of friends for a long time and she was named your godmother.” With surprising grace, the housekeeper swung into the shiny black carriage parked on the main road and sniffed when Sirius wrestled his luggage in. He was quite out of sorts and had a sudden craving for a warm bath and a long sleep, and his stomach clenched in hunger as McGonagall offered him sandwich from her wicker basket. He took it carefully, not entirely trusting the strange woman who waited until late at night to collect him from the docks, but it smelled fantastic and he devoured in in a few bites. He did his best not to show any enjoyment and McGonagall rolled her eyes. “In all my years, I’ve never seen a child sit so still or look so sour. You’ve got your mother’s fine features in there somewhere, young man, stop ruining them with that scowl.”

Sirius scowled deeper. “I want to go home.”

“You are,” McGonagall said with the closest thing to a laugh he’d heard from her yet. She unwrapped a sandwich for herself as the land rolled by outside the window, looking like nothing more than a blanket of shadows. Faint stars shone overhead if he twisted his neck at an odd angle, but the carriage’s movement jostled him too roughly to hold it for long.

“My aunt Euphemia never wrote to my mother,” Sirius mused as the vague silhouettes of flowers replaced the bare hills.

“I should expect not, she’s been dead for fifteen years. Your uncle was a strange type of man to begin with and losing her made him even worse. He would have walked the world over to get her a single blade of grass.”

“How did she die?”

When McGonagall declined to answer, Sirius stared out the window again and tried to place the great rushing sound he kept hearing. As much as he squinted, he saw no sign of water. “What’s that howling noise?”

“The wind over the moors,” McGonagall said with a kind of fondness. “We call it ‘wuthering’.”

“I don’t see any trees at all.”

“Not much lives out there but sheep and wild ponies, and not much grows but heather, broom, and gorse. We’ve got a few hours of travel ahead, you should sleep.”

As much as he hated being told to do things, Sirius could not deny his exhaustion from the ship journey and his horrible afternoon. After a valiant effort that lasted about fifteen minutes, he dozed off and woke hours later when the sun began to rise. The true color of the moorland was a bit of a surprise when he blinked in the growing dawn. Whereas India was made up of warm colors and lush greens, this place was a landscape of purple, gray, and faint blue. Sheep dotted valleys near and far, but he saw no signs of human life.

McGonagall had fallen asleep at some point and Sirius bit back a laugh at the way her hat bobbed with each bump on the path. She clearly disliked him as much as he disliked her, but he appreciated her lack of meaningless chatter. In a place absent of all life, she might prove to be a formidable opponent, and he couldn’t wait to get on her nerves.

A flash of white caught Sirius’ periphery and a stocky pony with a lanky rider trotted around a nearby hill just as the thick clouds parted overhead. The rider’s auburn hair, illuminated by the sudden sunlight, was the first true color Sirius had seen since he left the station and he was immediately intrigued. Thought he could not make out the rider’s features from a distance, he knew they were watching the carriage as it rounded the bend and hid them from view.

“Ah, here we are.” McGonagall’s brittle voice was softened from sleep and she sounded quite relieved to finally be back at the house, if it could even be called that. Griffin Manor was a large stone mansion with at least three floors and more windows than Sirius could count. Ivy wound up one wall and most of the lights were still out, giving it the eerie look of a shell that had been empty for too long. It was freezing cold outside when they stepped out of the carriage, but that didn’t slow McGonagall down and once again Sirius had to run to keep up. “I’ll show you to your room once and only once. If you get lost easily, I suggest you make a map, because this house is too big and too busy to have someone hold your hand all the time.”

The halls twisted and curled as McGonagall led Sirius through the manor, where it was almost as cold as the air outside. He tried to make careful mental notes of the turns so he didn’t accidentally end up in the dungeon that a house like this would no doubt have. “Don’t go wandering or poking about,” McGonagall warned as she opened his bedroom door. “There are nearly a hundred rooms in this house and most of them are locked. I won’t have you snooping around in things that don’t belong to you.”

With those final words of encouragement, she swept off down the hall, muttering to herself. “Batty old woman,” Sirius mumbled as he closed the door and unloaded his suitcase. His bedroom was large and airy, with windows along the east wall and a beautiful tapestry of a black hunting dog to the south. It was much bigger than his room at Grimmauld Place, and clearly meant for an adult—he had no idea what to put in it and his few possessions seemed pitiful on the massive bookshelves.

Sirius rubbed his eyes and pulled on his pajamas, setting his traveling clothes on the nearest chair. They still smelled a little like fish and he moved them across the room before slipping beneath the heavy blankets and settling in. The wuthering wind howled and beat the outer walls with a fury, but he honestly did not care. The cramped journey made him tired and sore despite his nap and he wanted nothing more than to sleep for the next century or so. Sirius was only a heartbeat away from lovely, dreamless sleep when a loud sob bled through the walls and all his blood oozed down to his toes.

Somewhere in the house, someone was crying.


	2. I Heard Someone Crying

Sirius’ first thought was, “That’s not a baby.”

His second was, “Well, shit.”

At fifteen years old, Sirius knew he was far too mature to believe in ghosts, yet he couldn’t stop himself from pulling the covers up to his chin and laying very, very still. The pounding of blood in his ears nearly covered the muffled weeping; how could he fall asleep now, when somebody who _probably_ wasn’t a ghost and _definitely_ wasn’t a baby was trapped somewhere in the walls? He knew for a fact that there wasn’t a bedroom next to his own, but the sound was so close.

Finally, he summoned his courage and slipped out of bed, hissing at the cold stone on his bare feet. His regular shoes would make far too much noise and he would certainly slide and die if he wore slippers, which left only an old pair of rainboots to protect his frozen toes. Sirius wouldn’t be caught dead running about in boots and pajamas under any normal circumstances, so he used that as extra incentive to not get caught.

Whoever was crying had quieted by the time Sirius wrestled his boots on and he began feeling along the heavy wooden panels along the far wall in search of a secret passage or hidden door. He pressed his ear against the wall and heard a series of noises, like the person was blowing their nose and trying to soften the sound, and quickly took two steps closer to the windows. The wall stayed solid until the only section left was behind the tapestry of the black dog. Carefully, Sirius pushed the heavy fabric aside and leaned on the panel.

With a _click_ , it swung open.

Gray light from grimy windows lit the hall where Sirius entered. It was even colder in this secret wing of the house and cobwebs swayed in the draft from broken windows. Sirius walked the length of a full corridor, finding nothing but old furniture, dust, and a small flock of pigeons that scared the daylights out of him when they flew directly into his face from their hidden roost. The whole place felt empty and dead.

It took five minutes for Sirius to find a staircase, and though the crying had stopped, he couldn’t bring himself to stop exploring. The brittle wood of the stairs groaned as he climbed; clearly, not a soul had been back here for many years. He was mulling over the possible reasons for closing an entire wing—murder? A cult? Mold?—when he turned into the room at the top of the stairs and stopped hard in his tracks.

For a moment, Sirius thought he had stepped into a dream. A cream-colored desk sat by the east window and the vanity was tucked along the far corner. The bedspread was a soft pink instead of silvery blue, but its position in the room’s left corner was the same. Sirius had to steady himself on the doorframe as he stared into his mother’s bedroom, so hauntingly familiar and yet so different.

He crossed the room slowly, trailing his fingers along the ivy that had grown across the walls from the cracked window. Flowers decorated nearly every surface: the hand mirror’s grip was engraved with lilies, the wallpaper was painted with winding roses, and live morning glories wound around the bedposts. Sirius wondered if the room’s previous inhabitant would be happy that nature had reclaimed her things so thoroughly.

 _It can’t be hers_ , he reminded himself as the sight of a mahogany display case made his knees buckle with sudden sadness. Walburga Black had never lived at Griffin Manor, so whose room could this be? Who owned not just similar, but _identical_ ivory elephants? Who was close enough to a woman that famously stayed detached that they would set up their most personal space in the same manner?

The vanity answered his questions with a single sepia photograph of two women on a garden swing. One had dark, wavy hair and a beaming smile for the camera; the other wore a wide-brimmed hat that sat far back on her head and framed the same sharp features that Sirius saw each time he looked in a mirror. A small label in looping script at the base read _E & W, Summer_ _1900_. “Euphemia and Walburga,” he whispered, tracing the lines of his mother’s face. _The best of friends_ , McGonagall had said. Sirius looked around at the faded colors and curling flowers and realized that the room of a dead woman was more alive than the rest of the house.

A small jewelry box sat on the other side of the vanity and Sirius slid the bottom drawer open with gentle hands. He recognized the pattern of the carvings—his mother had kept her pearls in an identical box back at Grimmauld Place. Soft music began to play and the tiny ceramic ballerina on the lid lurched to life, turning in wobbling circles. The drawer was empty, save for a bed of dried rose petals that crumbled when Sirius brushed his fingers against them. A deep indent stretched along the middle of the petals, as if something heavy had laid there—the shape was vague, but Sirius could still make out a long rod with a square at one end and something circular at the other. “A key?” He squinted at the shape. “Too big for a room key, and there’s no gate for the manor. Aunt Euphemia, what are you hiding?”

“GO AWAY!” Sirius jerked back from the vanity and was running before he even thought about it as a distraught voice rang through the house. He was halfway down the stairs when he realized nobody was in the secret wing, waiting to punish him for “poking about”. His heart thudded in his ears and he tried to take deep breaths and focus on the sound of rustling skirts and hurried footsteps on the other side of the wall—if those people could give him a clue about the hidden person, he might be able to sleep better.

Sirius scrambled back up the stairs and down a maze of abandoned halls that deposited him in a dimly-lit dead end near a tapestry of a leaping stag. Three maids vanished behind the tapestry just as he peered out of his hiding place and took a few tentative steps into the corridor. When it was clear nobody else was coming, he reached out, expecting to find another door, only for the hanging to pull away before he even touched it.

Sirius gasped. McGonagall shrieked. Her hand moved from clutching at her chest to closing around his wrist like talons and she hauled him toward the nearest staircase, her face reddening with fury. “What on earth are you doing here? I told you not to wander, you insolent boy!”

“I heard someone crying!” Sirius protested as he jogged up the stairs after her and tried not to dislocate his arm tripping over his clunky boots.

“You heard nothing of the sort. The wind on the moors often sounds like wailing.”

“But it wasn’t the wind!”

McGonagall yanked his bedroom door open and spun him inside. “Listen to me, Sirius Black. You are to stay in your room or you’ll find yourself locked in it. If I find you snooping again, I’ll box your ears.” She slammed the door and ran off down the hall, but not before Sirius saw the flash of fear in her blazing eyes. He knew she was lying—moors didn’t yell at people. McGinagall was covering up the hidden person, and he intended to find out why.

With nothing to do and nowhere to go without risking boxed ears, Sirius kicked his rain boots off and slid into bed with a sigh. His fear-induced adrenaline from following the crying and the subsequent sprint through the secret wing of the manor was rapidly wearing off, and he was even more exhausted than before. Within a few minutes, he was deep in a chaotic, twisting dream, surrounded by rushing footsteps and curtains of ivy that blocked the stag tapestry from reach. The thick cloth swayed as he lunged for it, desperate to find answers in this tangled mess of a house--

The clatter of dishes on a tray dragged Sirius awake and he stifled a groan. Not only was he still drained, it seemed that McGonagall was determined to sabotage his plans even in their subconscious stage. However, he was not met with the housekeeper’s stern face when he opened his eyes, but rather with a redheaded girl who was swearing under her breath as she picked a teacup off the table. “Who are you?”

The girl whirled around with wide eyes, obviously embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. My name’s Lily.”

“Why are you here?”

“Mistress McGonagall sent me up with your breakfast. She also suggested that you get dressed and go outside.”

“Where’s your accent from?” Unlike his parents’ clear, crisp English or McGonagall’s Scottish brogue, Lily’s voice rose and fell in odd places like the hills outside.

“It’s from Port Talbot, like me,” Lily laughed. Sirius stared at her blankly. “Um, it’s from Wales. You do know where Wales is?”

“Of course I know where Wales is!” Sirius snapped. This girl was barely older than him; she had no right to mock him for being ignorant. “I’m not stupid.”

“Never said you were. You’d better eat before your porridge gets cold.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Then get dressed and you’ll work up an appetite.” He was fairly sure she was teasing him, but her tone reminded him a bit of Evan Rosier’s sneer and he immediately went on the defense. Several insults prickled at the back of his throat.

“Don’t patronize me.”

Lily raised her eyebrows at his harshness and put her hands up in mock surrender as she opened the wardrobe. “No need to bite my head off, I was just joking with you.” She laid a white shirt on the bed and frowned at Sirius’ closet. “Looks like you’ve got black, black, and…black.”

“They’re mourning clothes, of course they’re all black.”

“Right. Sorry.” Lily grabbed a vest and trousers, then searched deeper for a coat. “Your uncle’s very excited to meet you, you know.”

“I thought my uncle didn’t have time for me.”

“He certainly does! McGonagall wanted him to put you in a boarding school, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Said you were family, and all that. Why aren’t you getting dressed?”

Sirius had pulled his shirt and trousers on while the top half of her body was deep in the wardrobe, but the suspenders and vest were still on the bed. “Aren’t you going to help me?”

Lily gave him a funny look that he couldn’t quite interpret. “You don’t know how to dress yourself?”

“I know _how_ , but everything gets tangled and I usually don’t have to!” Sirius said defensively. The servants had dressed him like he was some sort of doll for most of his life, so it was never a necessary skill.

“You’re a fair fool, Sirius Black,” Lily said, shaking her head. “I’ll help you this time, but you really should learn to do it yourself.”

“Don’t bother with it on my account, then.” Sirius grabbed his suspenders and vest before she could touch them and pulled them on. He would not let this girl insult his pride any more than she already had, even if the buttons slipped, the vest was far too tight to be correct, and the suspenders had not been adjusted since his growth spurt. “There, see? How’s that for a fair fool?”

Lily shook her head again, but she was half-smiling and it wasn’t cruel in the least. “You are the strangest boy I’ve ever met. Come here, you’re all twisted.” Her hands were warm on the back of his neck as she lengthened the suspenders with ease and adjusted the back of his vest. “I’ve two brothers and a sister, and the boys have the same problems. Frank’s vest never lies flat on its own and Remus seems to grow an inch every night, so Tuney and I have to check them lest they go out looking silly. There, you’re even now.”

Before Sirius could turn and properly introduce himself, she pinched his ribs in a spot that made all his muscles jolt. “What the hell was that?” he yelped, taking two quick steps away from her and crossing his arms over his sides.

Lily tilted her head in genuine confusion. “You’ve never been tickled?”

“No, why would I?”

“Usually parents do it to make their children laugh.”

“My parents didn’t have time for that kind of foolishness.” Pity shadowed Lily’s pointed face and he wanted to get away from it as fast as his legs would carry him. “Where’s the front door?”

If Lily was startled by the change of subject, she didn’t show it. “You should eat first.”

“I told you, I’m not hungry.”

“So you’re just going to leave it, then?” Her vibrant green eyes flashed with sudden indignance, burning past any softer emotions. “I can think of plenty of people who’d give you a good dressing-down for tossing perfectly good food away.”

“Oh, yeah? Who?”

“Me, for one! That porridge could feed both Frank and Petunia, and it probably cost more than my mother makes selling loaves in a week. It’s bold of you to waste it in front of me, Sirius Black.” They glared at each other for a moment before Sirius sat down and took a vindictive bite of the porridge. Unfortunately, it wasn’t terrible.

“Are you happy now?”

“Quite.”

If anyone else had scolded Sirius for wasting food, he would have continued to argue out of pure spite. Lily, on the other hand, managed to make him feel guilty about disappointing her, and Sirius couldn’t remember the last time he had worried about disappointing anyone. As Sirius ate and tried to rationalize his decision to follow orders, Lily leaned on the wide windowsill and stared out at the fields below. “Do you—do you like the moors?”

“I love them,” she answered, resting her chin on her forearms. “I love the endless sky, and the hills, and the fields of heather and broom. It looks like a fairytale in the spring.”

“Nothing lives out there, though.”

“Not at all!” She sounded genuinely offended on the moor’s behalf. “There’s sheep and ponies, not to mention the hundred types of birds and everything that’s hidden. Remus could prove you wrong in two minutes, I bet.”

“Remus? That’s your brother, right?”

“My twin. He’s always coming home with creatures he finds on the moors—we tease him that he’s one of them sometimes, since he has such a way with them.”

“Why would you tease him about it? He’s your brother.” It seemed rather rude to Sirius that Remus’ own siblings would make fun of him for something so harmless.

“We tease him _because_ he’s our brother.” Lily grinned. “Don’t worry, it’s friendly, and he does it right back to us. It’s not like we say anything cruel.”

The day was not warm and bright by any means, but there was something familiar about the way Lily’s hair caught the light. Maybe if it was bleached by lots of time outdoors…“Does Remus have a horse? A white one?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s _his_ , but there’s a wild pony he rides around sometimes. Why?”

“I might have seen him on the moor when we arrived. You have almost the same hair color.”

“Well it wasn’t me, that’s for sure. Even if I took breaks from my job, you wouldn’t catch me on a horse. My legs are too short, I’d slide right off!” Lily sat on the sill and swung them to prove her point. She must have been a good three inches shorter than Sirius, who was not considered ‘tall’ by any metric. “If you’re not doing anything today, you could probably go look for him and ask for a tour of the grounds.”

“I was thinking about wandering around anyway,” Sirius said as he finished the last bits of porridge and pointedly lifted the empty bowl to show Lily.

“I bet they had lots of fun games in India.”

“Not that I know of. I didn’t play much as a child.”

From Lily’s expression, one would have thought Sirius told her his hobby was kicking puppies. “Didn’t your parents play with you?”

Sirius snorted. “You’re joking, right? Why on earth would they do that?” The pity had returned to Lily’s face and he scrambled for the right words to make it go away. “My nannies would bring me books or toys or take me outside if I asked them to. It was hot most of the time, so I slept a lot.” Her big, sad eyes grew even sadder and Sirius’ skin began to itch. “Stop looking at me like I’m some poor neglected child who suffered at every turn! I turned out fine. Is there anything interesting in this place or not?”

Lily crinkled her nose and thought for a moment. “Right, well, I’d start with the gardens. The air is fresher there and there’s plenty of space to do things. The orchards should be open, and there’s always the secret garden if you _really_ want to explore.”

Sirius perked up immediately. “The secret garden?”

“It was Miss Euphemia’s,” Lily said, leaning in conspiratorially. “She and Mr. Potter used to tend to it for hours on end, and they say it was the most beautiful garden in Britain. When she died, he locked it up and buried his key, but nobody ever found hers and lots of people think it fell out of her pocket when they carried her body out, which means it’s somewhere on the grounds.”

A shiver went down Sirius’ spine as he remembered the floral decorations in Euphemia’s bedroom. “She died in the garden?”

“Fell off the garden swing. Mother says it was the worst day in history.”

“I’ll find it. I’ll find the key and the garden.” Sirius shot to his feet and put his shoes on in record time, hurrying down the hall with Lily leading the way. Belatedly, he remembered the forgotten teacup on the tray and almost went back for it, but Lily led him down a side staircase and he resolved to have a stronger cup later to make up for it.

The servants’ stair let out by the kitchens, where a collection of winter layers hung on hooks by the back door. Lily grabbed a red and gold scarf while Sirius finished buttoning his coat and wrapped it up his neck and over his mouth before pulling a wool hat down over his eyes. “There, much better.” He could hear the suppressed laughter in her voice ss he struggled to free his face.

“Ha, ha, you’re hilarious.” The layers of fabric muffled his sarcasm and took a good portion of the bite out of it, unfortunately. Lily took the ends of the scarf and tugged him to the door in spite of his protests—looking back, she may have done it _because_ of his protests.

“Have fun!” she chirped as she shut the door in his face and left him spitting bits of wool out of his mouth on the back porch as the wind swirled around him. Muttering under his breath about cheerful maids and forgotten tea, Sirius stuck his hands in his pockets and began walking toward the mysterious gardens of Griffin Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment and kudos mean the world to me, so don't hesitate to leave them! I have chapters 3-8 written already and my update schedule will probably be every 2-3 days :) Let me know what you think of Lily!


	3. Getting Lost Is How You Learn

It took a special kind of talent to get lost in a garden within five minutes of entering it, Sirius thought. McGonagall had told him to make a map of the house, but after half and hour of running through a labyrinth of hedges he was starting to think a guidebook to the massive grounds would be more useful. He could have sworn he heard people talking two left turns ago—or were they right turns?—and somebody’s shadow had passed in the neighboring corridor. The identical emerald green doors on the millions of orchards were quite lovely from an aesthetic standpoint, but they were godawful when he was trying to navigate. For all Sirius knew, he had been turning in circles this whole time.

The air that had been so crisp when he first set out was chilling him to the bone nearly an hour later and Sirius began to truly regret not drinking any of his tea that morning. Voices floated over a row of hedges and he jogged forward, only to be met with yet another opening to the vast moors, which were even colder than the normal gardens. He had learned that the hard way when he tried taking a shortcut and his cheeks went numb from windburn. The garden seemed to have a vendetta against him—every time he thought he had found a path, it opened into the moors or a flat wall of ivy. “Come _on_ ,” he groaned, leaning heavily on the nearest stone wall.

A cheerful chirping came from above and Sirius heaved a sigh as he turned around. “What now? I told you, I don’t have anything for you.” The red bird had been following him for the past ten minutes, whistling merrily as he slowly lost his mind trying to find the manor. The secret garden was a wild goose chase if he had ever heard one; all he wanted now was to curl up inside and never leave again. The bird tilted its head at him. “Fine. Where would you like to go, great and noble bird?”

It twitched its wings, then glided straight over the adjacent ivy wall and disappeared from sight. The vines would not be nearly strong enough to hold Sirius’ weight if he tried to climb over and there was no visible door, so he sighed again and started circling the bird’s garden.

The wall just around the corner was solid as well, which struck him as odd but not totally unreasonable, since private gardens were unlikely to have a door on the main path. However, the far side was covered in more ivy and the back faced the moorland with wind-battered gray stones. The red bird had flown into a garden with no door.

Understanding dawned on Sirius like someone had bonked him over the head with an idea. “The secret garden,” he breathed. “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me. Bird! Hey, bird!” A muffled whistle responded and Sirius startled himself with a laugh. “Thank you! Can you show me the way in?”

Maybe it was foolish to talk to a bird, but he really didn’t care. The red bird swooped up to the top of the hedge and hopped a few feet to the left, vanishing behind a clump of bushes and leaving Sirius alone in the maze. “That’s a solid hedge,” he called. “Bird, that’s—I can’t get through there.”

No response came and Sirius pulled his coat tighter, flexing his fingers so they didn’t cramp as a gust of wind howled around the corner. If his estimations were correct, it was almost ten in the morning, and the heavy clouds overhead showed no signs of clearing for sunlight. When the bird did not reappear after a few minutes, Sirius huffed and began moving in the general direction of the maze’s center in case he found anything familiar.

Another blast of wind sheared through the knit of his scarf and he cursed under his breath. His ears were mostly covered by the thick wool of his coat collar, which kept the cold out but stifled most sounds. The second part was only an issue when he rounded a corner, slammed face-first into someone’s chest, and bounced straight off and onto the ground with a yelp of surprise.

“Well, ‘ello there. You best watch where you’re going.” Sirius looked up at the tallest, broadest man he’d ever seen and only barely managed to keep his jaw from dropping open in shock. The man chuckled and offered a huge hand to help him stand.

“I don’t need any help,” Sirius said quickly as he scrambled to his feet and tilted his head back to look the man in the eye. “Who are you?”

“Rubeus Hagrid, groundskeeper. Call me Hagrid, though, me first name’s a bit of a mouthful.” Hagrid winked and hefted his shovel back onto his shoulder. “Yer Miss Euphemia’s nephew, aren’t you?”

“Her godson, technically. My name is Sirius Black.”

“Aye, you’re too pasty to be one o’ the gardeners’ boys.” Hagrid clapped him on the shoulder and Sirius nearly fell over again. “It’s about time we had another child in that ol’ house if you ask me. Too quiet nowadays.”

Sirius straightened as his interest piqued. “Another? There are others in the manor? Where?”

Hagrid’s eyes widened and he suddenly looked quite uncomfortable. “Shouldn’t have said that. Should _not_ have said that,” he muttered before clearing his throat loudly. “Well, you got the Lupins o’ course, and a few from town that swing by.”

“The Lupins?”

“Good family, that lot. Lily works at the manor as a housemaid, a lovely girl she is, and Remus is too much of a wild one to stay cooped up for long. Frank apprentices with his dad in town and Petunia helps their mum at home.” Hagrid visibly relaxed as he talked and walked, and Sirius wondered how he made ‘wild’ sound like a compliment. “Say, what were you doin’ around that part of the gardens? All the nice fields and orchards are by the manor.”

“I got…bored,” Sirius lied. There was no way he would admit to getting lost, and he couldn’t very well say he had followed a bird all the way there. He’d never hear the end of it. “Did you know there’s a garden with no door? It’s very odd.”

Hagrid stopped short and frowned. “You’ll stay away from that garden if you know what’s good for you.”

Indignance rose up in Sirius and he set his jaw stubbornly. He had found the garden fair and square, after all, and Hagrid didn’t own the place. “Why? If the birds can get in, so can I.”

“No, you can’t. That’s Miss Euphemia’s garden and I won’t have you grubbing it up after all these years.”

“You’ve been inside it, then?” Instead of answering the question, Hagrid began to walk away again and Sirius had to chase him to keep up. “Tell me about it!”

“It’s cold out today, you should be getting home now.”

“Hagrid, you have to tell me! The red bird wanted me to go in.”

“Red bird? What red bird? You’re even stranger than they say.” The last part was probably meant to go unheard, but the groundskeeper’s voice was too loud for secrecy.

“I am _not_ strange,” Sirius said angrily, running ahead of Hagrid to make him stop. “And I don’t know what kind of bird it was. It had a red front and brown wings and it showed me the garden.”

Hagrid stared at him for a moment before bursting into a booming laugh. “Blimey, that was a robin! There’s a thousand of ‘em that nest here.”

As if on cue, the robin flew over them and landed with a high, trilling call. It hopped along the top of the hedge and Hagrid held his hand out, whistling softly. The robin fluttered into his palm and cocked its head at Sirius, like it was waiting for him to say something. “Hello again.”

The robin chirped twice and Hagrid huffed. “Seems you’ve found yourself a friend, Sirius Black. Can’t imagine how you charmed this young fellow, but you did.”

“Really?” Sirius took a step closer as his heart leapt. “I’ve only had one friend before. Is it normal to be friends with birds?”

“That depends on who you ask.” There was a new kindness in Hagrid’s voice, but it was interrupted by a quiet laugh behind Sirius. He immediately whipped around and felt his face flush—if anyone else had seen him talking to a bird, he would certainly be mocked.

Sirius only caught a glimpse of a boy’s angular face peeking around the tall hedge before it disappeared with another, louder, burst of laughter. “Hey! Come back here!” Without wasting another moment, Sirius took off at a run. Hagrid called his name once before Sirius was out of earshot, too focused on catching the new boy to hesitate.

The boy was damn fast, that was for sure. Sirius had never been a runner and his lungs burned with strain as the chase continued through row after row of hedges. Every once in a while, he saw flashes of color: white shirt, brown boots, auburn hair. A thought struck Sirius and he ran harder, following the sound of crackling twigs and snippets of laughter. He had seen hair that color against the purple-gray heather and the rising sun, and he was bound and determined to confirm his suspicion.

The next corner opened into a straightaway, and the boy was already at the end of the path by the time Sirius came around, running for the open moors. He was tall, with long legs that made it easy for him to swing onto the white pony that stood patiently and munched on the high grass. He looked over his shoulder as Sirius grew closer and grinned before wheeling around and trotting off. As tenacious as Sirius was, he knew he couldn’t keep up with a horse, and he finally slowed down to catch his breath at the mouth of the maze. “Son of a bitch,” he wheezed, barely holding himself upright.

He was tired and sore and wildly happy from chasing Remus Lupin through half the garden at top speed. His stomach rumbled with hunger and he realized he had not only lost track of time, but also his guide, which left him with no idea where the hell he was. He tilted his head to the sky and took a deep breath of clean, cold air that no longer stung when it blew against his skin. If he was going to make a habit of getting lost, this wasn’t a bad place to end up.

That afternoon, once he had gone around the outside of the maze and stumbled into the manor half-frozen, Sirius relayed his adventurous morning to Lily between mouthfuls of stew and she confirmed that Remus was the likely culprit. “Always up to something somewhere,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “That fresh air did you some good, though—you look less like a porcelain doll already.”

Sirius touched his cheek on reflex, slightly offended. “I don’t look like a doll! If you’re going to be rude, I won’t tell you about the garden.”

“You found it?” Lily scooted her chair closer, but Sirius turned back to his food. First Hagrid had called him ‘strange’, and now Lily thought he looked odd. She sighed in frustration and Sirius felt no guilt whatsoever.

\---------------

The next week and a half passed uneventfully, filled with further exploration of both the house and the grounds as Sirius familiarized himself with each twist and turn. He visited Euphemia Potter’s bedroom a couple more times, but the stillness and quiet soon grew eerie and he felt as if he were intruding on something private. Grimmauld Place was never very exciting for a child, so he wasn’t sure what the proper procedure for exploring was, and he had so much new energy that it practically overflowed from him. Each day spent running around the grounds made him stronger, faster, and better prepared—he quickly learned that the wind was less likely to bite if he jogged in place or tucked the ends of his scarf into his collar, forming a barrier to the outside.

Eight days after his arrival at the manor, Sirius had caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and barely recognized the pink, freckled cheeks and bright eyes. His ever-present frown lines had smoothed, and even his hair hung less limp around his shoulders. He still looked like himself, just more _alive_.

It wasn’t difficult to adjust to life at Griffin Manor. Lily brought tea and breakfast at eight o’clock each morning and they talked for half an hour before Sirius went outdoors until the lunch bell rang. Most days he would try and find Hagrid after lunch, but the groundskeeper had apparently decided to avoid Sirius at all costs, to the point where he literally ran from him one bitter Monday. Sirius berated himself for getting attached too quickly and added ‘Figure Out What Hagrid’s Problem Is’ to his list of investigations.

The list had three incredibly frustrating items:

  1. Find the door to Aunt Euphemia’s garden. Sirius realized the door had to be hidden somewhere under the ivy and threw himself into searching for it a bit at a time. However, the walls were long, and the ivy was dense enough that it took him several hours to make a significant dent in even one side.



  1. Confront Hagrid. Though the goal sounded straightforward, Hagrid had a much better knowledge of the gardens and their hiding places that made it difficult for Sirius to follow him. Once, he thought he saw him by the wall of the secret garden, but the gardener was gone by the time Sirius went to investigate.



  1. Find the person hidden in the manor. This third and final project scared Sirius the most. The person—he couldn’t tell whether they were a boy or a girl yet—was quiet most nights, but every so often he would hear muffled weeping, not to mention the daytime shouts. The noises didn’t scare him nearly as much as the possible reasons _why_ someone would be locked up, or what Sirius would find when he tracked them down.



The plus side of muddling through his goals was a growing index of knowledge about the house. On one particularly nasty day, Lily advised him to stay inside the house rather than risking illness in the rain and he wandered further through the closed wing behind his dog tapestry. The stairs weren’t nearly as fragile as he had first assumed, which was a relief when he missed a step and slid down an entire staircase with a clatter.

Five full rooms had been abandoned in a hurry: none of the furniture had been covered with dust cloths and some of the windows were still propped open on rusted hinges. Three of the five were variations on sitting rooms, one was Euphemia’s bedroom, and the last was the portrait room.

The portrait room was not as unsettling as its name entailed, though Sirius wondered if he should be more freaked out by it. It looked like the sitting rooms, with plush chairs and crumbling doilies all over, but instead of high bookshelves someone had hung paintings. Grimmauld Place had dozens of gloomy paintings of Sirius’ ancestors; these were downright cheerful by comparison. He spent a whole afternoon trying to identify his sort-of-but-not-quite relatives, reading nameplates and matching faces to the few photographs that were framed in other rooms.

Fleamont Potter featured in a few paintings and looked nothing like a grief-stricken recluse Lucius Malfoy had described. He did have a slight hunch on his back, but he seemed happy enough, with a twinkle in his eye and a proud tilt to his chin that reminded Sirius of his own father, if his father had had bronze skin and ever experienced joy. The Potter family was so full of people with mischievous smiles and curious eyes that he nearly skipped over Euphemia the first time her face appeared among the others. She had the same jet-black hair as the Potters, but her chin was much narrower and her eyes were rounder than the rest. Even in a painting, her warm brown skin seemed to glow with internal happiness—Sirius could only imagine what she looked like in real life. The edges of her lips tilted up in every portrait, as if she was always on the verge of laughing.

There was even a small painting of her and Walburga that Sirius looked at for a long, long time. They wore matching half-smiles, even though the two women could not have looked more different: Walburga’s porcelain-pale skin, light eyes, and sharp features were a stark contrast to the encompassing softness of Euphemia. Curly raven hair and dark, arched brows that said “we know a secret and it might be about you” were their only similarities. Clearly, the pair had been as close as sisters.

“Why did you never speak of her?” Sirius asked, staring at the silver eyes he and his mother shared. “You never told me anything. I know she was dead, but that doesn’t mean she was _gone_.” For better or for worse, the painting did not respond.

\------------

Two weeks after his arrival at Griffin Manor, the sun was fully out for the first time and Sirius could hardly wait to continue his search for the secret door. “Remus asked about you,” Lily said as they sipped tea together and watched the mist roll off the hills. Sirius had invited her to stay for morning tea three days prior and he was genuinely beginning to enjoy the company.

“Really? Why?” He hadn’t seen Remus since he was led on a merry chase and laughed at, and he wasn’t sure he wanted a repeat appearance.

Lily shrugged. “I’m not sure. Mum says hello, by the way.”

Sirius smiled a little into his teacup. Hope Lupin was one of the kindest women he knew, and he had never even met her. Once, Lily had mentioned his arrival on her free day, and she returned that afternoon with a small basket of rolls Mrs. Lupin made as a welcome gift. Sirius understood that food was scarce in their household and was hesitant to accept the rolls until Lily gently bullied him be reminding him how rude it would be to refuse. Rudeness had never bothered him before, but he couldn’t bring himself to be mean to such a lovely woman.

Lily told him lots of stories about her family and their antics: her father was a woodworker in town, her mother sold spare bread loaves in the market, and her siblings helped out where they could. She and Remus were the oldest at fifteen, Frank was almost fourteen, and Petunia was a spiteful eleven and a half. Lily always laughed when she talked about Petunia’s temper, which flared in unlikely situations, such as being asked to wear shoes. “I’d love to meet your mother someday,” Sirius said, taking a bite of toast. “Your siblings, too, but maybe not while I’m chasing them through the gardens.”

“Was that a joke?” Lily’s eyes went comically wide and Sirius scoffed, barely containing a smile.

“Absolutely not. Just an observation. But really, they sound wonderful.”

“I wonder what they’d think of you.” Lily tilted her head and bit her lip, like she always did when she was thinking hard.

“They probably wouldn’t like me much,” he mused, taking another bite of toast. “Not many people do, you know.”

“That’s not true.” Lily’s face fell. “My mum’s never seen you and she’s sure you’re a lovely boy. Frank likes everyone, and Tuney would be happy to banter with someone. Besides, I like you plenty when you’re not being prickly.”

“You do?” Sirius’ throat tightened with gross emotions and he didn’t really know how to respond when Lily nodded. “Um, I don’t think you’re irritating anymore. I really like hearing you talk and having tea with you. Just…so you know.” He hated feeling awkward and tongue-tied, but nobody had said something that nice to him since Peter Pettigrew.

Lily was clearly suppressing a laugh as she patted him on the hand. “That’s very kind of you to say, Sirius. I’ll talk to Mum on Saturday and see if you can visit sometime.”

Sirius started to thank her when a sharp shout echoed in the hall outside, followed by an angry stream of words that he couldn’t quite make out. Lily went white as a sheet. “Who is that?” he asked, hurrying to the door and pressing his ear against the wood. “I hear them sometimes, but McGonagall says it’s the wind.”

“Alice Fortescue probably dropped another cake pan. She’s always doing things like that.” Lily’s voice shook a little and she talked too fast for Sirius to believe her.

“Lily—”

“I have to go, see you later!” Before he could pry for the truth, she slipped past him and out the door. She had disappeared down another hallway when Sirius tried to follow her, so he stomped outside and felt his old sourness returning. Nobody in the whole damn house would tell him a thing, and now his beautiful sunny day would be ruined.

His timing, however, was excellent. Not two minutes after he stormed out of the manor, he saw Hagrid crouched in the peach orchard, humming softly. “Hey!” Sirius’ frustration doubled as he remembered Goal #2. “Why won’t you talk to me anymore?”

Hagrid startled and stood up. “Partly because you start civil conversations with ‘hey’. Good morning to you, too, Sirius. I have to go now.”

Sirius stepped in front of him before he could leave. “Good morning. Why have you been avoiding me? I saw you by Aunt Euphemia’s garden, so I know you know where the door is.”

“I don’t have the foggiest idea what you’re on about. Now, out of the way.”

“Tell me and I’ll move.”

Hagrid raised an eyebrow. “Even if I knew where the door was, I don’t have the key and I certainly wouldn’t tell you. ‘Scuse me.” He picked Sirius up off the ground by his armpits and set him down a few feet to the right. The gardener didn’t even break a sweat and Sirius was nearly speechless with fury.

“Wha—you—fine, I’ll find it myself!”

“Have fun with that.” Hagrid hoisted his shovel in one hand and his bucket in the other and set off, humming again.

A soft whistling sounded to Sirius’ left and he turned around. “I don’t suppose you know where the door and the key are?” The robin hopped twice and swooped to the adjacent hedge. “I’m really not in the mood to play this game.” The next chirp was more insistent and Sirius ran a hand down his face. “Sure, why not. It’s not like there’s anything better to do right now. Lead the way, mighty and powerful one.”

The robin took off down the familiar path to Euphemia’s garden and Sirius resigned himself to thinking about that morning’s crying episode. It didn’t sound like an adult or a toddler, and Hagrid had mentioned there used to be another child at the manor. He supposed Lily had been telling the truth, but then why had she seemed so frightened and secretive? Was Sirius the only person in the whole house who was out of the loop?

He was so lost in thought that he nearly missed the robin’s sharp turn into the wall of hedges along the garden wall. Just as he was going to remind the robin that he couldn’t fly, he saw a ray of sunlight breaking through a gap in the greenery. After a quick glance around to make sure nobody would see him, he squeezed through and emerged in a hidden side path that was mostly overgrown; he could barely see the stepping stones beneath the high grass.

Something metallic caught the light up ahead and Sirius knelt, brushing away the dead leaves and dirt that had mostly buried it. Slowly, a curling decoration emerged, followed by a metal rod and a square with a single notch in it. Sirius rocked back on his heels and let out a long breath as the key to Euphemia’s garden lay in his hands, barely rusted and gleaming in the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirius: Do I even weigh anything to you?  
> Hagrid, moving him out of the way: No, it's like holding a couple of grapes.
> 
> Comments and kudos are my lifeblood! Let me know what you think of the newest characters :)


	4. It's A Maze

Sirius couldn’t stop staring at the key. Distantly, he could hear someone calling his name and knew he had to go, but he could not believe his luck in finding the second clue to his most pressing puzzle. He pocketed the key and slipped back out onto the main path, careful to check both ways in case one of the gardeners was passing by and reported him to McGonagall for sneaking around.

“There you are,” Lily said as he came to the back door. “I’ve been calling you for ages.”

“Got a bit turned around. What do you need?” Sirius was still miffed about her lies, but it was hard to stay angry at her for long.

“I forgot to give you something at breakfast. Mum sent it along last weekend.” She dug around in her apron pocket, then held out a coil of rope with two wooden handles.

“What’s it for?”

“It’s a skipping rope, what do you think it’s for?” At Sirius’ blank stare, Lily took a handle in each hand and began to step-hop-skip a good distance from him. She counted twenty skips before stopping and holding it out. “I once got up to a hundred when I was twelve. Give it a go.”

Sirius took a deep breath and tried to mimic her hopping motion, but only succeeded in smacking himself in the back of the head with the rope. It was surprisingly painful—even Lily winced in sympathy. A few dull thuds on his back and neck later, he turned two full skips in a row and looked up with a hopeful smile. “Did I do it right?”

“Well done!” Lily applauded as he finished the second skip. “You’ll be better than me in no time.”

He ran his fingers along the red-and-gold wood. “Your mother bought this for _me_?”

“There was a peddler that drove by a couple days back. Remus mentioned that the handles were the same color as your scarf and Mum thought you might like something to do outside.”

“I love it. Thank you, Lily.” Unsure of the proper way to show his earnest gratitude, Sirius stuck a hand out and hoped for the best.

Lily shook it firmly and the corners of her lips twitched up. “That’s the first time you’ve thanked me.”

“It won’t be the last, I promise.”

“If you were Frank or Tuney, you’d give me a kiss for a gift.” Lily tucked her hands into her pockets again.

“Do you _want_ me to kiss you?” Lily was a lovely girl, but she was more like a sister or a good friend than anything else, and the idea of kissing her made Sirius extremely uncomfortable for more than one reason.

“Not particularly, no.” She stifled a laugh, but before long they were both giggling. “Have fun with your skipping rope. I’m really glad you like it.” A series of bells rang and Lily ducked back inside with a final mock-salute.

“Hagrid!” Sirius called as he clumsily skipped back to the gardens, eager to show off his new skill. “Hagrid, you need to come see this!”

“What’re you hollerin’ about?” Hagrid asked as he came around the bend. “This isn’t about that garden again, is it?”

“No, not today.” He untangled the rope and turned a few good skips while he talked. “Isn’t it wonderful? Lily Lupin gave it to me this morning and I can—” the sharp sting of the cord on the back of his neck made him flinch. “I’m still working on it.”

Hagrid’s suspicious frown disappeared and he shook his head with a chuckle. “You’re doing a fine job for a beginner. Keep workin’ at it and I bet you could skip around the whole garden by the end o’ the day.”

“I bet I can do it by noon.” Sirius’ competitive streak flared up and he began skipping again as Hagrid pushed the wheelbarrow in a wide arc around him. His arms were already starting to ache and he knew they would be numb by noon, but he had made a bet he did not intend to lose.

An hour later, Sirius could skip twenty-five times in a row and could not feel his feet. He tried not to take it personally that Lily had been able to go much faster; she had, after all, been skipping much longer than him. He was so determined to fulfill his goal and so excited about his blooming friendships that he completely forgot to return to the secret garden.

The next morning was golden and soft when Sirius awoke earlier than usual and padded to the wide windowsill to watch the mist rise. Between the explosions of purple and yellow wildflowers and the soothing rush of the wind, he could hardly believe he had thought this place was ugly when he arrived a few weeks prior. The ‘wuthering’ had rapidly become one of Sirius’ favorite sounds: it muffled the noises of the manor at night and sometimes, just before he fell asleep, it sounded like a woman singing. He always had good dreams when the wind sang, dreams of blooming flowers, warm rain, and rich earth.

Lily arrived early as well and silently watched the sunrise with him as their tea cooled. Despite her evasiveness about the crying person, Sirius had never felt so comfortable around another person—he had no idea how to tell her how much her friendship meant to him, so he settled for memorizing how she liked her tea and saying ‘thank you’ at every opportunity. Something told him she understood the little gestures.

 _You’re not particularly nice, but I think you could be if you wanted to_ , Peter Pettigrew had told him a lifetime ago. Sirius wasn’t sure when he had chosen to be nice—if he had chosen at all—but he did know that he had not said a single cruel thing in more than two weeks.

The days after their early wake-up only grew more beautiful. More than once, Sirius thought he saw Remus on his white pony as he skipped through the gardens and read by the moors, and soon he began to wonder if he would ever properly meet him. Lily said Remus thought he was interesting, after all; it didn’t make sense that he would avoid him like the plague.

The robin became as close of a friend as a bird can be when Sirius began bringing him seeds and sticks for his nest. In return, the robin would hop around near him and “talk” as Sirius worked through his goals out loud. Now that he had found the key and realized that Hagrid was avoiding the topic of Euphemia’s garden more than Sirius himself, the list had shrunk to one and a half items, and Sirius was grateful for the smaller workload.

Finding the door to the garden was Sirius’ top priority. He had the key and he had a starting place, but digging through the thick ivy was a real challenge. He celebrated the one-month anniversary of his arrival at Griffin Manor laying on the ground with a bird hopping around his head, which no longer felt like a strange pastime.

“What do you think, robin?” The side path to Euphemia’s garden was secluded and quiet, and as long as Sirius laid down the majority of the noise from other gardeners was muffled. “We know there’s someone hidden who is around my age, and that everyone in the house is in on the secret. I think they’re a boy, but that might just be wishful thinking because I want more friends. It really shouldn’t matter, though—Lily’s my friend, and she’s a girl.” The robin chirped and flew over the wall. Sirius sighed; he should have known better than to trouble a bird with complex questions about friendship.

A moment later, a howling wind blew along the path and half-buried him in dead leaves. He sputtered and stood up to brush the dirt from his clothes—oh, Lily was going to _kill_ him—when the robin whistled from inside the garden. “Okay, okay, I’ll start looking again!” Sirius rolled his eyes and reached for the ivy again, then paused. That sound…he had never heard it in the daytime before, but the singing wind was back. The next gust lifted the sheet of ivy covering the wall in a great ripple and something gleamed a few feet to his left.

Sirius’ heart skipped a beat and he stuck his arms into the vines up to his elbows, walking slowly to the side and feeling along the stone for anything out of the ordinary. His mouth went dry went he felt cool metal against his fingers and he practically ripped the curtain aside in his excitement, revealing a dark wooden door with an iron lock. He gave it a tentative push—when it didn’t budge, he took the key out of his pocket and turned it in the lock with shaking fingers. There was a heavy _thud_ , and then the door to the secret garden swung open.

It was so quiet, and so dead.

Brown grass came up to Sirius’ waist, mingling with weeds and wilted plants. Shallow wooden boxes were half-visible in places where the tangles were thinnest, but most of them looked rotted through with age. He waded through the grass along the perimeter of the secret garden and tried to remember how to breathe. Even in death, it was breathtaking.

Crinkled lilypads floated on the surface of a pond in the middle of the garden and algae crept up the gray stone borders. Graceful willows stretched along the water’s edge and beyond, arcing over flats of twined weeds and brambles. Sturdy pillars formed a pavilion in one section of the garden, where rusted chairs and a table sat among drooping thistle. The top of the table sparkled with vibrant glass in the shape of a stained-glass butterfly when Sirius wiped away some of the grime.

Trees that he couldn’t name lined the walls and held at least a dozen birds’ nests—their high trills and scolding chatter were the only sounds next to his own footsteps. A statue of a beautiful woman holding a wide bowl had become a birdbath, and Sirius carefully scraped the lichen from her stone face and clothes.

The garden was dead, and then it wasn’t. Sirius first saw the shoots coming up by the birdbath woman’s feet, buried beneath dry grass. Without really thinking about it, he bent down and pulled a few handfuls of the stuff out of the way to make room for the tiny green sprouts to breathe. A deep sense of satisfaction filled him from just that simple action and he began searching for more; surely, these weren’t the only living things in the whole garden.

Another patch appeared as Sirius cleared more undergrowth, and soon he had made a small circle around himself where three different groups poked up. The sun was high, the day was new, and Sirius had a mission. He hung his vest and warm layers on a nearby tree bough, then rolled his sleeves to his elbows and got to work. His hair quickly fell into his eyes and stuck to the back of his neck, so he twisted it up and stuck a spare twig in it to keep it out of the way.

The sheer joy of digging his hands into the warm earth was unlike anything he had ever experienced. On the surface, the garden was still and silent; beneath the layer of decay, it pulsed with life that he could feel in his fingertips. He knew absolutely nothing about gardening, but the little sprouts looked like they were suffocating under all that gloom and he was determined to give them room to grow. Slowly, bit-by-bit, he moved through the garden, pulling weeds and adding to his ever-growing pile of grass.

He had just reached the pavilion’s east steps when a pop of color caught his eye. He picked his way over blackberries and ivy and turned the corner to see the second truly living thing in the garden: roses. The whole back wall was simply covered in roses of all colors and sizes, a tapestry of tightly woven blossoms and stalks. Sirius could barely tell where one plant ended and another began. “Someone’s been taking care of you,” he muttered to an especially large rose. It was a beautiful lemon-yellow and the satiny petals gave off a sweet, mild scent. _Lily likes yellow_ , he thought. _But how to cut it for her…_

A horrible vision came to him. If he told Lily about the garden and she told someone else, Uncle Fleamont would certainly hear about it and kick Sirius out for brazenly breaking the rules and wandering around his dead wife’s garden. As much as he wanted to bring Lily something as a ‘thank you’ for telling him about the garden in the first place, the risk was too high until he got permission to be in Euphemia’s garden.

In the meantime, he decided, he would ask Hagrid for gardening advice and spare seeds to bring the place back to life. The cleanup work would be brutal, but there was something about doing the work with his own hands and having a mission to accomplish that made it more like a game than a chore.

While he knelt and crouched and wrestled with fifteen years’ worth of neglected plants, Sirius took a few breaks to just look around his aunt’s garden. Clearly, Euphemia Potter had loved it: trellises and arches helped climbing plants grow high and peeling paint hinted at brightly labeled sections of vegetables, or maybe flowers. Seeing as he had no carpentry skills and not the faintest idea how to sort plants into groups, Sirius decided that he would let the garden grow wild and only tend to the plants that needed help. Tame was boring, anyway.

A gentle creaking noise caught his attention when the breeze blew over the garden wall and made the intricately carved garden swing sway. “It’s okay, Aunt Euphemia,” Sirius said. “I’ll take care of it. Your garden won’t die, I promise.”

Maybe it was coincidence, or maybe it was simply the strange weather of the moor, but as soon as Sirius’ vow left his lips the wind quieted. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but he did believe that the love Euphemia Potter poured into her garden lived on, bringing new sprouts even when everyone else wanted to let it waste away.

Sirius stayed there for more than three hours, searching for green shoots and anything alive that was buried. When the bell for lunch finally rang and he headed back to the manor, every piece of exposed skin was streaked with dirt and the knees of his trousers were soaked with mud. “Where were you this morning?” Lily asked as he handed her his coat and scarf.

“I found a garden,” he said. “Nobody was there, so I cleared out some weeds and such.”

Lily’s eyebrows crept higher. “I thought you were focused on finding _the_ garden.”

“This one’s just as good.” Not the whole truth, but not a total lie either. “What do you know about plants?”

“What kind of plants? Vegetables? Flowers? Trees?”

“Anything. Everything. Do you have favorites?”

Lily wrinkled her nose as he took a step inside and left dirt on the floor, so he stepped back out and scraped his shoes again. “Remus is the one who knows about plants and animals, but I do love lilacs and snowdrops. Mum might have some extra seeds, if you want them.”

“That would be wonderful,” Sirius said, double-checking his soles as he entered again. “Where is Remus, anyway? You always mention him and he’s never around.”

“He does odd jobs around town if someone asks,” Lily said as they went up the servants’ staircase. “Everyone adores him, but he spends most of his time on the moor with the animals. I swear our house has become a barn.”

“For birds and horses?”

“And foxes, weasels, sheep, anything that he can get his hands on,” Lily laughed as she set a bucket of water on the fire for a bath. “Last winter he brought home so many baby animals that Mum made him build a little hut outside for them so the rest of us could have our beds back. The vole in the washing basket was the last straw, if I recall correctly.”

“He sounds kind.” Sirius thought back to the brief glimpses of Remus he had seen and realized the only time he’d actually seen his face was when he looked back after the chase, when he had been too far away to see the real details.

“Most of the time he’s a troublemaker.” Lily poured the heated water into the tub and headed for the door. “I hope you find each other soon.”

The warmth was a blessing on Sirius’ aching joints. It was hard to worry about distant uncles and hidden people when the soap smelled so nice and the dirt was scrubbed from his face, and Sirius found himself growing drowsy as he dried off and dug around for his pajamas. _Twenty minutes can’t hurt_ , he thought as he curled up on top of the covers and dozed off. _McGonagall would lose her head if I fell asleep at the dinner table, so it’s only polite…_

Distantly, he heard the now-familiar shouting that echoed from behind his tapestry, but his limbs were leaden and his dreams were too tempting to pass up. The final mystery would come at another time, once he had taken his twenty-minute nap and awoken refreshed.

His dreams began with sweet-smelling roses and singing winds, with shimmering glass and stone ladies who smiled kindly. Auburn hair flashed at the edges of the visions once in a while, accompanied by the memory of a bubbling laugh and footsteps as light as air. Sirius dreamed of good things, and then slipped into dreaming of nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You don't even know how much I love writing Lily.
> 
> All the lovely comments have made me a productivity machine and I finished the whole first draft in the past couple of days! I'm almost done typing it all up, so hopefully the updates will be more frequent :) Thanks for all the support!
> 
> Coming up next: Sirius makes a new friend (?) and a new archenemy


	5. Come To My Garden

Working in Euphemia’s garden became a habit that Sirius had no intention of breaking. At first, he had gone in out of curiosity and the excitement of something new in his life, but that quickly morphed into a genuine desire to see the new growth of the little plants he uncovered. Each day, he cleared more of the dead things away and revealed tiny sprouts that continued to give him hope.

True to her word, Lily brought him four small bags of seeds when she returned from her next free day, and Sirius began brainstorming ideas that very afternoon to thank Hope Lupin. The crocuses were the first to bloom at the end of the summer—he liked to think his improved gardening skills were the cause, but he knew it was more likely that the flowers were saying, “thank god we have breathing room for once”. The loss of two assistant gardeners doubled Hagrid’s workload, so Sirius began lending a hand around the orchards and keeping an ear out for gardening tips.

“Hagrid, are you in there?” he called over the pear orchard wall.

“What?” _Always so eloquent_ , Sirius thought with a fond smile.

“Can I borrow some tools?”

There was a moment of silence, then a heavy sigh. “Nothing sharp, you hear? If you lose a finger, it won’t be my fault. And don’t yank up any more tulips today!”

Sirius winced at the memory of his punishment for unearthing two dozen tulip bulbs. In his defense, he thought they were wild onions that had invaded the planter boxes, but Hagrid still made him replant three dozen more. Lily had not let him inside the house until he peeled off his mud-caked outer layers and shoes, then dragged him straight to the bath—it was hard to focus on her scolding when he was trying not to keel over from exhaustion. “Right. Thanks!”

“Say, whaddya need ‘em for, anyway?” Sirius ran the last few meters to the garden shed to avoid answering; if Hagrid found out he was in Euphemia’s garden despite his warnings…well, Sirius had better things to think about. For all of his general clumsiness, Hagrid’s toolshed was immaculate: everything had a place and a use, even the sand-filled boxes where he sheltered injured animals until they were healed.

He crammed a small rake, clippers, and twine in a spare bucket, then stuck a hand shovel in his pocket next to the packet of bandages he brought along in case of another incident with the brambles. He dreaded explaining to Lily why the inside of his pockets was dirty for the third time that week; for someone so short, she could be truly intimidating.

Sirius had just rounded the last corner on his way to Euphemia’s garden when a large black _thing_ flew at him, flapping his wings in his face and cawing loudly. He yelped and instinctively covered his face with his arms, sending his tools clattering to the ground as the bird continued its assault—the robin he had befriended was round and fluffy, while this creature looked like someone had glued feathers to the angriest lump of coal they could find.

“Soot!” Someone admonished. Sirius heard footsteps coming closer but didn’t dare to look up and risk losing an eye.

“Get this demon bird off me!” he snapped as the bird screamed again and smacked him in the nose with a sturdy wing. “Ouch!”

“Stop it, you daft crow.” There was a discontented squawk and the bird flew off. “Are you alright?”

Sirius peeked over his arm and his heart skipped a beat. Remus Lupin was even more distracting up close as he looked at Sirius with mild concern. Apparently, it wasn’t enough to have sinfully long legs and a laugh that featured in an unusual number of Sirius’ dreams—no, he had to be damn cute as well. “You,” Sirius blurted, still hypnotized by the dark green eyes that were just a touch more amber than Lily’s.

Silvery scars stretched across his nose and down one cheek, breaking up constellations of freckles. Just as he had suspected, the sun had bleached his hair from fiery red to light auburn. “Me.” The corners of Remus’ mouth twitched up and Sirius realized he was trying very hard to contain a laugh.

Mortification overrode the fog of _hmmm pretty_ and Sirius felt a blush start to rise as he stuck his hand out. “Hello, I’m Sirius Black.”

“I know who you are.” Remus’ smile finally broke through as they shook hands and Sirius prayed his knees wouldn’t wobble. The moment was ruined by the demon bird clacking its beak from Remus’ shoulder.

“What the hell is that thing?”

“Who, Soot?” Remus raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Have you never seen a crow before?”

“No. You named it?”

“Of course I named him, he’s my friend.”

“He attacked me!”

“You frightened him!”

“ _I_ frightened _him_?” Sirius asked indignantly. “He came out of nowhere and tried to claw my face off.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “He’s not going to hurt you. Go on and give him a pet, he’s really soft.”

“When he bites me, it’s your fault.” Sirius eyed the crow warily and reached toward its inky wing, quickly poking it as it warbled. “There, I did it.”

“Give me your hand,” Remus said in a gentle voice.

It was mildly embarrassing how fast Sirius complied and he would have mentally scolded himself if Remus didn’t start pulling his glove off. “What—what are you doing?”

“Proving a point.” With no warning whatsoever, Remus brought Sirius’ bare hand up to the demon bird’s chest. Sirius yanked his arm back when it cawed and nipped at him. “Soot, be nice. Go on, try again.”

Tentatively, Sirius reached out, barely flinching when Soot nudged his hand. The feathers on his chest _were_ soft, softer than anything he’d ever felt, and he couldn’t suppress a grin. Soot looked scary at first, but he wasn’t all that different from the robin after all. “Pretty bird,” Sirius cooed under his breath as he petted Soot’s head.

“He likes you.” Remus was looking at him with renewed interest when Sirius brought his hand down again. “Where are you headed off to with all of that?”

A vague lie was ready on Sirius’ lips, but he hesitated. Remus was good with plants and besides, he liked him. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Are you burying a body or something?”

“ _Remus_.”

The mischief on his face faded. “Yeah, I can keep a secret.”

“I stole a garden,” Sirius said carefully. “It’s not mine, but nobody else wants it. I think most of it is already dead and I’ve ben trying to save what I can because it’s not fair to just abandon it for no reason. And—and nobody has any right to take it away because they’re the ones who shut it up in the first place.” He knew he was talking like a runaway train to a boy he had just met, but he couldn’t stop. “You can’t tell anyone I found it, not even Lily, or they’ll lock it up again and Kick me out for sure.”

Remus blinked a couple of times, then nodded slowly. “I won’t tell a soul. Will you show me?”

“Absolutely, right this way.” God, it felt _so good_ to finally talk to someone about the garden. Sirius tried to calm his racing heart as he showed Remus the hidden path and the wall of ivy. He ducked under the curtain and opened the door, then reached back through the ivy and beckoned for Remus to follow him in.

“Mary melys.” Remus’ breath rushed from him in a soft huff when he entered the garden. It truly was a sight to behold in the morning sun, with birds flitting between trees and tiny flowers bursting from the ground. “This is _her_ garden, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Sirius turned Remus by the shoulders and pointed to a patch of purple and gold crocuses. “That was the first section I cleared out and they’re the first to bloom. I found this place about a month ago and I’ve been trying to clear the dead bits away since then. The tools help a lot.”

“It’s lush.”

Sirius frowned at the barren twigs and piles of dead grass. “Well, there’s not much greenery yet, but I suppose in the springtime…”

Remus shook his head with a small laugh. “No, ah, I meant it’s lovely.”

“Oh. Yes, it really is.” Sirius grabbed the strap of his satchel and tugged him to the left. “Come on, there’s loads more to see.”

“Has anyone else been here?”

“Not for fifteen years. Lily’s the one who first told me about it, you know.” Sirius hopped over a pile of stray sticks and stopped in front of the rose wall. “I think someone’s been taking care of these. Look, they’re close enough to the wall that you wouldn’t have to actually enter the garden.”

“Yeah, these have definitely had some help. Remus squinted at the top of the wall and nodded slowly. “Whoever it was, they knew what they were doing.”

“It could have been luck. I don’t know the first thing about gardening and just started yanking dead grass up.”

“Are you serious?” Remus asked incredulously.

“Yes, I thought we already established that.”

“That was the worst joke I’ve ever heard. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Don’t insult me or I won’t show you the rest of the garden,” Sirius mock-threatened, as if there was any way he would let this wonderful person go that easily. “Let me know if I’m killing things even faster than they’re already dying, would you?”

“The garden’s not dying. Not all of it anyway.”

Sirius frowned. He had been so sure that everything but the little sprouts was dead. “What? Are you being serious right now?” He caught himself half a second later and a pit of dread opened in his gut. “Don’t you dare.”

It was too late. A slow smile spread across Remus’ face. “No, I’m being Remus.”

“Oh, my god, you did not just steal my joke. You did not!”

“You _so_ deserved it.”

“Bastard.”

“Ass. Do you want me to prove that the garden’s not dead, or are you going to sulk some more?” When Sirius waved him on, Remus took a pocketknife from his coat and scraped the top layer of bark off a low-hanging branch, revealing lime green beneath. “They call that ‘wick’ around here. It means the plant’s dormant until it gets woken up by someone. You actually did a really good job cleaning up the dead bits, so now things have to decide for themselves whether to stay asleep.”

“It’s like magic,” Sirius murmured, marveling at the small sliver of green. When he looked up again, Remus was halfway into the fork of the tree, whistling at the robins that nested there, and suddenly he understood what Lily had been talking about when she spoke of her brother the animal whisperer. “That robin’s the one who showed me the way here. First the key, then the door.”

“Did he now? Smart bird.” The robin flapped his wings as Soot pecked serenely at a patch of ivy on the wall and warbled every few seconds. Remus hummed, then swung so he was hanging upside-down from his knees. “Have you told anyone else you found Euphemia’s garden?”

“Just you. How are you doing that?”

“Come up and I’ll show you, if you think you can handle the risk.” Unwilling to back down from a challenge, Sirius practically launched himself at the tree.

In the span of a few hours, he learned how to _properly_ climb a tree and go upside-down without falling to the ground; in return, he showed Remus the pond, the pavilion, and a dozen other quirks of the garden. With each new wonder, he was rewarded with genuine interest and a bright smile. He never knew talking about flowers could be so much fun.

They talked about their families, too, much later in the morning, but there wasn’t much to say. Lily had told him so many stories about the Lupin family already and Sirius had hardly known his parents well enough to make them interesting. Remus looked a little sad when Sirius mentioned how often his parents left him alone with the servants as company, but thankfully his frown disappeared when Sirius stumbled and stuck his whole foot in the pond.

By noon, Sirius decided he never wanted to leave. They had moved from footraces (Remus was still faster, which was _so_ unfair) to sitting on the swing side by side. “You’ll come back, right? You’ll help me bring back the garden?”

“I’ll come every day if you what me to, rain or shine.” Remus’ eyes were closed and his face was rooted toward the sun, but he sounded steadfast and sure.

“I think we should let it run wild a bit. Neat gardens aren’t any fun.”

“You’re just lazy,” Remus teased, and there wasn’t a bit of cruelty in it.

“Am not!”

“No, you’re not. I happen to agree with you, actually. People with tame gardens have no imagination.”

“I stayed with this family in India after my parents died and they kept all their plants in little pots. Everything in that house was awful, but I remember those poor flowers looking so sad.” Each leaf had been wrinkled and spotty, and they had been too thin to hide him from Mulciber. “You know, the kids there used to say I was rude, but I wasn’t nearly as rude as them.”

Remus laughed and opened his eyes. “I suppose there’s no need to be rude when you have a garden to look after, then?”

“Exactly. You’re even nicer than Lily said you were,” Sirius mused, watching clouds drift across the sky and gently rocking the swing with his foot.

“Lily said I was nice? Lily Lupin, my sister?”

“She said you were a troublemaker, actually, but she didn’t deny that you were very kind.” A wonderful realization hit Sirius and he nudged Remus. “You’re the fifth person that I like here, isn’t that neat?”

“You only like five people? Who are the other four?”

“Lily, of course, and your mum, though I’ve never met her. Hagrid and the robin were the first friends I had when I arrived. I’m not sure if the robin counts as a person, now that I think about it.” Sirius chewed the inside of his lip. “Soot would have counted, if he didn’t try to murder me.” He looked back at Remus, who was staring at him in bewilderment. “What?”

“Lots of people think I’m strange, but you might be the strangest person I’ve ever met.” Somehow, the word ‘strange’ sounded like a compliment. For the first time, he _liked_ being strange, as long as it kept that slight smile on Remus’ face.

“Do you like me?”

“What?”

“Do you like me? The robin’s the only one that really likes me so far, and Lily said she likes me fine when I’m not prickly.”

“I just spent four hours running ‘round a secret garden with you, _of course_ I like you.” The swing swayed when Remus bumped him. “There, that’s at least two and a half people who like you.”

“A half?”

“Lily’s still making up her mind.”

“I mean, she’s certainly short enough to count for half.”

“Look who’s talking!” Remus’ retort cost him a handful of dead leaves to the face, which he was about to return when the lunch bell rang and distracted them both.

Sirius’ face fell and he shook the last of the grass from his sleeves. “I should probably go. Do you want to come back with me for lunch?”

“I’ve already got mine,” Remus said, pulling a slightly smushed sandwich wrapped in checkered cloth from his jacket. “See you tomorrow?”

“You bet. Thanks again, Remus.” A handshake felt too formal and a hug too familiar, so Sirius settled for a mock salute as he jogged to the garden door, like the one Lily always did after lunch. The sun slanted perfectly a moment before the door closed, lighting Remus up in gold and yellow and shining auburn. Sirius didn’t stop smiling the whole way back to the manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He has arrived! Hell yeah! As always, comments and kudos are highly appreciated and I would love to hear what you think of the characters. Thanks for reading! <3


	6. Are You A Ghost?

The jungle was vibrant and pulsing around Sirius as he sprinted through it, stumbling over roots and wading through masses of plants. His mother was there somewhere, hiding from him just out of reach behind the wide, flat leaves that caught the hot Indian sun. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, following the curtain of black curls that appeared in flashes mere inches away. Her white dress fluttered between dense trees, so familiar and yet so foreign. “Mother!” Sirius didn’t understand why she was leaving him behind. “Mother, come back! I can’t find you!”

His throat constricted as they went further into the jungle. “Mum, _please_!” He pushed through a thick clump of bushes and sudden sunlight blinded him. Sirius blinked rapidly to clear the spots as the shape of a woman came into focus in the clearing ahead. “Mum?”

His mother—no, not his mother at all—turned and looked at him with a beaming smile. Euphemia Potter glowed even brighter in the daylight than her portrait had suggested, and she reached out with open arms. He took two wobbling steps forward, only for her to take two steps back. When he started to move again, she turned and ran for the jungle thickets, glancing over her shoulder every couple of steps as if she wanted Sirius to follow her. Once again, he was too slow to catch up to her and she disappeared. “Aunt Euphemia! Come back!”

Sirius woke with a gasp and sat bolt upright in his bed, panting and clutching at his tangled sheets as the dream faded. He hadn’t been left in the jungle after all, he was in the manor alone, alone alone _alone alonealonealone—_

A muffled sob halted his spiraling brain and he froze. The crying person had not disturbed him for several days, aside from occasional daytime shouting that the servants stoically ignored whenever he was around. The rushing blood in Sirius’ ears calmed as he exhaled slowly, trying to shake off the last grips of fear from his nightmare. He was exhausted from pulling a dead hydrangea out of the ground by its extensive root system, and for once the crying was more irritating than eerie. If that living, breathing person wanted to wail their heart out, they could at least do it during normal hours when other living, breathing people weren’t trying to sleep.

Sirius unbound his legs from their blanket prison, muttering under his breath as he brainstormed a good, solid insult to shut that person up for a little while. Before Griffin Manor, he would have had at least three on-hand instantly; now, it took some time for the forge to fire up again. Taking a spare candle from the nightstand, he pulled aside the dog tapestry and entered the secret wing of the house.

Whatever had caused this particular meltdown, Sirius was grateful for the volume of the crying. It wasn’t anything dramatic that would echo around the halls and call a horde of servants to investigate, but it was loud enough that Sirius could follow it fairly well. The very plaintive, very human noise made it easier for him to quell his unease and focus on his current combination of tired, cranky, and pitiless. It was easy enough to find the stag tapestry and he spared no time to admire the weaving before pushing past it and entering…a bedroom.

A fairly plain bedroom with sparse furniture and a shivering lump on the large bed that occasionally sniffled.

“Would you _please_ stop that horrible noise? _Some_ people are trying to sleep around here.” The lump stopped moving with a hiccup.

“Who are you? Are you a ghost?” The boy—Sirius assumed the person was a boy, but it was hard to tell with all the shadows—demanded. “How did you get in here?”

“My name is Sirius Black, I’m certainly not a ghost, and I used the door, you absolute buffoon.” The boy sat up and fumbled for something on the nightstand. “I’m Fleamont Potter’s godson. Who the hell are _you_?” Sirius crossed the room and the candle illuminated part of the boy’s face, reflecting off his glasses.

“I’m James Potter, Fleamont Potter’s son.” He leaned over and the lamp on the nightstand sprang to life, partially blinding them both. “Oof, that was brighter than I expected.”

James Potter was the spitting image of his mother. His short black hair sprang up in every direction, and his eyes were round and dark beneath his glasses. However, his face was squarer than hers, and it seemed as if someone had turned down the inner brightness that made Euphemia so striking. “Why were you crying?”

“Because I’m going to die,” James said, looking vaguely embarrassed but mostly miserable as he scrubbed at his cheeks. “They don’t even try to hide it anymore. McGonagall says the rumors aren’t true, but I don’t believe her.”

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with you?” Sirius perched at the foot of James’ bed and crossed his legs.

“I’m not sure, actually. Everyone says I’m going to get a lump on my back like my father and then just…keel over, I suppose.” For something so morbid, James was remarkably blunt about it. Sirius appreciated that; it meant he didn’t have to interpret hidden meanings.

“I didn’t know Uncle Fleamont had a son, but I’ve never met him, so that’s not much of a surprise.”

“Me neither!”

Sirius frowned. “You’ve never met your father?”

“Nobody comes to visit me unless McGonagall sends them in for my treatments,” James said. “My dad never comes to see me because he hates me.”

“I’m sorry. My parents didn’t like me, either.”

“Where are they?”

“Dead. The cholera took them when we lived in India.” It had never hurt Sirius to talk about his parents before, but he felt a little pinch in the part of his chest that was still shaken from his dream.

“You lived in India? What was it like?” James asked, perking up immediately and steamrolling right over the whole ‘dead parents’ part. Sirius decided right then and there that this boy was going to be the sixth person he liked at the manor, and launched into a series of stories about Grimmauld Place. Between tales, James piped in with clever comments and short stories of his own that made Sirius laugh until he realized they all took place in this room.

He made a timeout motion with his hands halfway through his story about meeting the robin. “Hang on. Have you ever been outside?”

“No, the spores would kill me,” James said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“The _what_? What in the world are spores?”

James opened his mouth, then closed it and frowned. “That’s a really good question. McGonagall and the doctor talk about them sometimes and they say spores make people sneeze or make their eyes itch.”

“I’ve been outdoors every day for more than two months and I’ve never heard of spores before. I’m only getting stronger.”

“Yeah, but you’re not dying.”

“You seem perfectly healthy to me.” Sirius squinted at James in the flickering light. Aside from his skinny limbs and red-rimmed eyes from crying, nothing appeared to be wrong with him. His voice wasn’t hoarse, and he wasn’t deathly gray like the servants who caught the cholera had been. “You are too thin, though. I’ll ask McGonagall if you can come outside with me tomorrow morning.”

“No!” The sudden ferocity of James’ voice made them both jump. “No, you can’t,” he pleaded. “She would never let you come back to see me. She worries all the time and she would go loony if she thought you were endangering me.”

“Can you sneak out then?”

“I can’t walk.”

“Why not? You’ve got legs.” Sirius found James’ knees beneath the covers and gave them a quick squeeze, drawing a startled laugh and a reflexive twitch from him. “They work, too!”

“I don’t think I ever learned how,” James explained, folding his legs beneath him. “I have to stay in bed most of the time and I go in a wheelchair if I need to get somewhere.”

“And people thought I was peculiar,” Sirius muttered. “Tell you what, Prongs—”

“Prongs?”

“Your hair is sticking up all over and it looks like antlers, and you’ve got that tapestry outside. Besides, we need nicknames if we’re going to be friends. So, _Prongs_ , I’ll come back tomorrow when nobody’s here and bring some flowers from my garden.”

“You have a garden?” James scooted closer and suddenly Sirius remembered that the garden’s previous owner was his dead mother. Did that mean James owned it now?

“In a way. Nobody else wanted it, so Remus and I have been cleaning it up.”

“Who’s Remus?”

“He’s my friend.” Sirius silently rejoiced in the fact that he now had to use _two_ hands to count the number of friends he had. “He lives near town with three siblings and spends most of his time on the moors with the animals. You’d like him.”

“I like lots of people,” James said with a slow nod.

“Then why are you shouting and crying all the time?”

“I said I like people, not that I like it when they’re always poking me and pushing me around. If someone tried to dunk you in ice baths every other day, you’d yell at them, too.”

“Fair enough,” Sirius agreed. “Are you sure they won’t let you leave?”

James rolled his eyes. “Pomfrey acts like the world is ending when I asked them to even pull the curtains back, so, yes. It’s sad, I would have liked to look for my mother’s garden.”

“Her what?” Sirius’ heart stopped for a moment.

“Her garden. Did you know that she had one of the most beautiful gardens in Britain and that it’s been locked since she died?”

Sirius tried desperately to keep his face neutral. “Is that right? Fascinating.”

James leaned in like he was sharing a ghost story. “I heard two maids talking about it. The really cool part is, they never found her key to the door, so someone could still get in if they found it.” Sirius made a noncommittal noise as the blood drained from his face and James flopped back onto his pillows. “I have a picture of her, but it’s covered most of the time.”

“Why?”

“She’s too happy. It’s annoying. Pull that cord and you’ll see what I mean.” He gestured vaguely at a group of thick cords a meter away. “Not that one. No, not that one. Sirius, I am pointing right at it—there you go!”

With a gentle tug, the drapes above the fireplace slid apart, revealing a small portrait of Euphemia Potter. She had her classic half-smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye. “I think it’s lovely. You could use a little happy in here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” James straightened up and narrowed his eyes.

“It’s so dark and gloomy in here! How do you stand it?” The flames of Sirius’ own temper rose just behind his teeth as James balled his fists in the blankets.

“That’s rude.”

“You’re rude.”

“Am not!”

“Are, too!”

“Why are you so mean?”

“You started it!” It wasn’t Sirius’ best comeback, but he counted the rising color in James’ cheeks as a win.

“I hate you.”

“ _Good_.” Sirius crossed his arms and stared pointedly at the floor. So much for using two hands to count his friends.

They sat in utter silence for thirty-seven seconds, both fuming, until James finally spoke, much quieter than before. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get upset. McGonagall says my temper is horrid.”

“Must be quite a temper if that old battleaxe points it out.” Sirius glanced back at James and resettled on the bed. “It’s alright, I shouldn’t have been so blunt. I guess we’re pretty similar aft—” The end of his sentence cut off with a wide yawn and James laughed.

“You should go back to bed before you fall asleep here. I’m alone from two to four tomorrow afternoon and all night if you still want to bring the flowers.” Hope shone on his face and Sirius grinned.

“You can count on it. Sleep well, James.” Sirius yawned again as he grabbed his candle and slid his boots on.

He was halfway across the room when James gasped. “I thought of a nickname for you!”

“Really? What?”

“Padfoot, since you’re so quiet and sneaky!”

“Padfoot and Prongs.” Sirius let the words hang in the air for a moment. “I like it.”

“Goodnight, Padfoot.” James sounded awfully proud of himself.

“ ‘Night, Prongs.”

When Sirius returned to his own bed, he found he couldn’t fall asleep anymore. His mind raced with new information: his estranged uncle had an even more estranged son that nobody spoke of, who was deathly ill with no apparent symptoms, and Sirius had discovered him by total chance. Well, not _total_ chance, but he certainly had not been expecting to find James when he first set out. He had also completed the third and final goal on his list, and it hadn’t even been three full months since he arrived.

\--------------------------

Sirius wasn’t sure when he finally drifted off, but he woke to sunlight and soft humming as Lily tiptoed around his room and set out the breakfast tray and lit the lamps. She paused for a moment by the wide windows and closed her eyes, and when she tilted her chin just so and relaxed the tension in her shoulders, her profile was nearly identical to Remus’.

“Good morning, Lily.” She startled and the moment of calm disappeared.

“Morning, Sirius, how’d you sleep?”

“Better for the second half of the night.” He sat up and stretched his arms up high, still sore from the previous day’s work.

“Second half?”

“Yeah, after I met James.”

The teapot slid out of Lily’s hands with a clatter and tea sloshed out onto the table. “James? James Potter?” Her voice wavered more than he had ever heard before as she looked at him with wide eyes. “What the hell were you doing there?”

“I heard someone crying and I followed the sound. Why are you so upset?”

“ _Nobody_ is supposed to go near him! They say he’s horribly sick and delicate. Why did you go looking?” Lily began twisting her apron nervously. “McGonagall would have me out of here in a second if she knew I’d let you in there.”

“You didn’t let me in anywhere, I found it all by myself.” Sirius hurried to the table and pried Lily’s hands away before she ripped the fabric. “James didn’t look sick, just morose and a little odd. McGonagall won’t sack you, because you did nothing wrong.”

“But I did!” Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and she swiped at them. “Don’t you see? We’re not supposed to talk about him; I’ve never even seen him. My job is to keep you out of trouble, but now—” Her lower lip wobbled and she swallowed down tears.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Sirius wrapped her in a hug and patted her back. It was awkward, seeing as he had little experience in this field, but Lily clutched the front of his shirt anyway and seemed to appreciate the gesture. “Shh, you’ll be alright.”

“I can’t lose this job,” she hiccupped. “I just can’t.”

“You’re not going to lose your job, Lils, it’s going to be okay. If McGonagall finds out, I’ll tell her you had nothing to do with it.”

It took a couple more minutes for Lily to fully pull herself together as Sirius rubbed her back in soothing circles. “You’re a really excellent friend, Sirius,” she said as she stepped back and wiped her eyes. “Even if you’re too curious for your own good.”

“How dare you! Curiosity is one of my best traits, next to devastating good looks and endless charisma.” Lily laughed and Sirius cheered internally. “Have some tea before you go. I’m going to head out early so Remus won’t antagonize me for being lazy.”

“Remus? My Remus?”

“Yeah, your brother’s a real charmer,” Sirius said sarcastically. “For someone as smart and friendly as he is, you’d think he would have the decency not to sic his demon crow on me if I’m a few minutes late.”

“You’re not getting along, then?”

Lily’s frown deepened and Sirius scrambled to recover. “No, really, he’s wonderful. I think I’m still working out this whole friendship thing is all.”

She nodded and took a fortifying gulp of tea. “In that case, I’ll leave you to it. Oh, and please stay away from James if you can. We’ll all be in trouble if someone finds out.” Without giving Sirius a chance to argue, she swept out of the room and off down the hall.

Sirius dressed in record time and grabbed a piece of toast on his way out, just barely remembering his coat as he sprinted out the door and into the gardens. The path was second nature to him now as he ran through the hedges, determined to make it to the secret garden before Remus. The door was still locked when he arrived and there was no tall, lanky boy waiting to tease him, so Sirius made a beeline for the pavilion and flopped down on the cool stones, panting.

It was shaping up to be a beautiful day: bits of clear blue sky broke through fluffy clouds and sent the smell of warm earth wafting through the air. Sirius inhaled deeply, letting it fill his lungs and clear his mind.

A gentle but persistent prodding broke the garden stupor and Sirius grinned. “You’re late.”

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Remus said, continuing to lightly poke Sirius in the ribs with his foot. “Are you ready to do some actual work, or is it naptime at nine in the morning?”

Sirius groaned and batted him away, but Remus grabbed his wrists and hauled him to his feet. “Give me a minute, I had a busy night!”

“Doing what? Waiting for Prince Charming to wake you up?” Remus fluttered his eyelashes and Sirius fought his oncoming blush. _He is NOT cute,_ he reminded himself. _He wakes you up and makes you pull large plants out of the ground_.

“I made a friend, actually. A human one.”

“Congratulations! I knew Lily would come around eventually.” Remus hopped up on the large stump and balanced on one leg.

“No, I met James Potter.”

Remus wobbled so badly that Sirius held his hands out to steady him on instinct. “You met James?”

“Yeah.” Sirius slowly took his hands off Remus’ shoulders and tried not to think about how close their faces had been. “He’s a lot like me.”

“Good god, not that!” Remus mock-gasped and Sirius pushed him playfully. “You should bring him here sometime; he’d probably like it.”

“He can’t walk, and he’s not allowed to leave the house. He thinks the spores will kill him, but I promised to bring him some flowers from the garden tonight. Can you believe that he’s never been outside?”

“Wouldn’t that be a miracle,” Remus mused. “Getting a poor bedridden boy out into his mother’s garden. We’d better get to work if you want to have anything to show him. Come up here and I’ll show you where wildflowers breathe best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! If you've read the book or seen the movie, I suppose it's not much of a shock, but please let me know what you think! Comments and kudos always encourage me to update and write more :)


	7. A Bit Of Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a POV change about halfway through this chapter and it deals a lot with grief/ the depression that comes with it. Nothing graphic, just someone who deeply loved and deeply misses his wife. It's not super central to the storyline aside from clearing up parts of James' life and why his father doesn't visit him, so feel free to skip that if you want to. Summary: Fleamont visits James in the middle of the night, reminisces about Euphemia, and decides to take an extended trip to run away from his feelings.
> 
> Me: *slaps first section of this chapter* This bad boy can fit so many garden metaphors in it

It had been so long since Sirius’ had been to a high-society party that he had nearly forgotten how itchy fancy clothes were. He hadn’t thought anything of it when Lily called him upstairs just after lunch, but he knew something was up when McGonagall was waiting in his bedroom with his nicest clothing laid out on the bed. The two women fussed over him in a whirlwind of motion and made him scrub his face within an inch of its life—sure, he was a bit dirty from the garden, but he was afraid they might throw him in with the laundry next.

As she tugged a comb through his shoulder-length hair, McGonagall informed him that his uncle had finally asked to see him. Sirius’ stomach lurched at the thought; what if he accidentally let slip about the garden, or worse, James? He couldn’t imagine the type of man Fleamont Potter must be to keep his own son locked away from the world. _Probably like my dad,_ Sirius thought ruefully as he dressed, making a face at the scratchy black fabric. It was impossibly more dreary than the rest of his clothes.

The head housekeeper’s face was lined with worry as she led Sirius to the top floor and made him wait in the hall outside his uncle’s office. She fiddled subtly with the edge of her apron in the nervous tic Sirius was coming to recognize, and his unease grew. Anyone who could unsettle the battleaxe would surely be a formidable opponent. “Your uncle will see you now,” McGonagall said as she held the door open.

With a quick nod, Sirius tiptoed inside. It was dark and still, lit only by a crackling fireplace and a few oil lamps. Three or four large hunting dogs laid on the carpet and growled low in their throats as he edged along the wall, keeping to the shadows as best he could. “Don’t be afraid, child,” a soft voice called from the armchair facing the fire. “The dogs won’t hurt you, and neither will I.”

“Mistress McGonagall said you wanted to see me, sir.” Sirius gingerly stepped over one of the dogs and stood a meter or so away from the armchair.

Fleamont Potter stood up with a sigh, leaning heavily on a black cane. There was a moderate hump on his back, as his portraits had shown, but he bent as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. The lights illuminated the defined angles of his jaw and cheekbones, and Sirius’ fear dulled; his uncle did not look like a cruel man, just a sad one. “Please come closer, I can’t see you. You are Sirius Black?”

Sirius took two steps forward. “I am, sir.”

“Ah. Of course you are.” The corners of his uncle’s eyes crinkled in a kind smile. “Your mother and I never got along, but she and Euphemia were like sisters. You have Walburga’s eyes. I had no idea; they never sent us your picture.”

“My parents didn’t have the time to get my picture taken,” Sirius said. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Do for—? No, not at all.” Fleamont laughed quietly and for a moment, he looked quite a lot like James. “I asked you to come here so I could check up on you. Are the people nice? Do you have everything you need?”

“Yes, sir. I—I like it here quite a lot,” Sirius admitted.

“McGonagall wants me to send you to a boarding school,” Fleamont said, looking at Sirius over the rim of his glasses. “I’m inclined to agree, seeing as there’s not much for a child to do here—”

“Please don’t send me away,” Sirius interrupted. “There’s lots for me to do outside, and I’m not doing any harm.”

Fleamont was clearly startled by his abruptness. “Harm? What harm could you do, dear boy?”

“Please, sir. Don’t send me away.”

“Very well. If you are happy here, I would be glad to have you.” His uncle grimaced and leaned more on his cane. “Would you like some books or toys? I’m afraid I don’t know much about children, but please don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything you would like.”

 _What if…_ It was a risky idea, but it might just work. “May I have a bit of earth?”

Fleamont’s smile slipped away and a shadow crossed his face. There was no way for Sirius to bail out now and he immediately regretted asking. “I beg your pardon?”

“A bit of earth,” Sirius repeated, summoning his courage. “To plant seeds in and make things grow.”

“You may have your bit of earth.” Fleamont’s voice was stern, no longer kind and fatherly, and he did not look at Sirius. “But don’t expect anything to grow from it.”

“May I take it from anywhere, as long as no one is using it?”

“Anywhere!” Sirius took a half-step back at his uncle’s sudden volume. “Now please, go, and tell McGonagall to order you some new clothes. I won’t have you wandering about in black like a lost soul and making this house even sadder than it is.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sirius said as he all but fled from the office. He mentally berated himself for asking about a garden— _of course_ it would be a sore subject with his uncle, even after all these years. “Mistress McGonagall?”

The housekeeper looked a bit alarmed by his flushed face. “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I—my uncle asked you to order some new clothes for me. Preferably ones that aren’t black.”

She raised her eyebrows at the request, then nodded and muttered something that sounded like, “about time” as she herded him back down the hallway. As soon as she was gone, Sirius ran to the gardens, not bothering to change out of his itchy vest. The darkness and overwhelming weight of Fleamon’t office made him desperate for clean air and vivid colors.

“Remus!” Sirius called before he even reached the door. He rarely locked it before going to lunch in case either of them needed to enter quickly, so it swung open easily as he barreled through. “Remus, are you in here?”

“Shush, you’re scaring her!” Remus hissed from the base of the willow tree, where he was cradling something in his arms.

“What’s that?”

Remus shuffled to the side to make room for Sirius as he ducked beneath the branches. “I found her this morning, all by herself in the cold.”

The little lamb in his lap bleated and Sirius’ heart lurched. “I met my uncle.”

“Is that why you’re all dressed up?” Remus cocked his head, scanning him up and down.

“Yes, but that’s not the exciting part.” Sirius wrestled his vest and suspenders off, then rolled his sleeves up to keep them clean. Or at least, clean-ish. “He said we can have the garden.”

“What? Really?”

“Sort of. I asked him for a bit of earth and he said I could have it as long as nobody else is using it, so I didn’t have to tell him everything.” Sirius ran a hand down the bumpy wool of the lamb’s back and it nuzzled his hand. “It was strange, meeting him. I thought he’d be horrible because he locked James up, but really he just seemed sad.”

“He’s been alone for a long time.” Remus set the lamb down and it wobbled to its feet, bleating at him until he poked its nose and turned back to Sirius with folded hands. “Well, the garden’s yours now. What do you want to do with it?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Sirius grinned and ran to the large stump, hopping up and pointing to the bare section of dirt by the door where they had removed the hydrangea. “Over there we can put those blue flowers you talked about, and the pink ones that Lily likes can go around the pond. If we save the waterlilies, I think they’ll look nice in the spring. Oh! Speaking of Lily, she said—”

A loud clap of thunder cut off Sirius’ rambling and startled him so badly he nearly fell over. A few cold drops of rain began to fall and he tilted his face up to the sky, unable to contain a smile as water soaked his shirt and washed away the chaotic energy of the afternoon. Storms in India made him feel like he was being boiled alive in lukewarm water for half the year—in the secret garden, in _his_ garden, the rain cleaned his very soul.

A hand tangled in his own and Sirius opened his eyes, looking down through damp strands of hair. “Come on, you goose, you’ll catch your death doing that!” Remus laughed, tugging him down off the stump. They made a mad dash for the stone arch near the birdbath statue as a flash of lightning lit up the sky and thunder rolled through. It was a tight fit and Sirius ended up with his back to Remus’ chest, still holding the one hand that wasn’t outstretched to feel the raindrops. “What is it with you and rain, anyway?”

“What is it with you and the sun?” Sirius countered, thinking back to all the times he had found Remus basking flat on his back in the sunniest part of the garden. He glowed in those moments. “I like how cold it is, and how everything looks brighter when it’s done.” He dropped his hand and looked over his shoulder. “Why?”

“Just curious,” Remus shrugged. His auburn hair was plastered to his forehead in gentle waves and Sirius watched, entranced, as a raindrop traveled down his face. Something brushed tentatively against the back of his left hand.

“If you’re going to bother, at least commit to it,” Sirius teased as he held Remus’ other hand, running his thumb over his knuckles. The responding laugh buzzed against Sirius’ back and he leaned into it, watching the rain fall as Remus rested his chin on his head.

“You’re a handful, Sirius Black.”

“It’s a good thing you’ve got two hands, isn’t it?” He held up their double hand-hold as proof.

“Definitely.” Remus smiled and wrapped his arms around Sirius’ waist.

“This garden is going to grow, isn’t it?” Sirius asked after a moment of breathing in the metallic sweetness of the storm. “It’s funny. Now that the garden’s mine, I don’t have a clue what to do with it beyond a couple of wildflowers.”

“That’s what you have me for, remember?” Remus squeezed his hands. “We’ll make this the best garden in the world.” They stayed in the stone arch for a long time, mostly quiet aside from a few teasing jibes and ideas for the garden. Whenever Sirius laughed, loud and clear, he felt Remus’ breath hitch against his back and vowed to laugh more often as long as it made _that_ happen.

***************

He saw her everywhere. No matter how far he ran away or how long he stayed there, her face appeared in crowds, on signs, in every corner of his periphery. He knew why, of course: even after fifteen years, he couldn’t let her go. Euphemia was still the light of his life and the flower of his heart, just as she had been when he first saw her on the moor, lit by the sun and surrounded by heather. When she went away, she took part of him wither her.

Minerva McGonagall was a godsend, as far as Fleamont Potter was concerned. She kept the house running on his many bad days, talking with him on cold evenings when he tried to shut the world out, and, most importantly, cared for his greatest treasure when he could not.

Fleamont knew it wasn’t fair to James to be so distant. He had tried _so hard_ to be there for his son when James was an infant, and even when he was a toddler, but one look from those deep brown eyes sent him spiraling until Minerva pulled him back out. While those eyes still haunted him, he could not be around his wonderful boy, so he did his best to love him from afar.

He had been doing well, too, until Sirius Black arrived. Walburga’s will had been old, very old, _fifteen years_ old, but she had named the boy Euphemia’s godson and that law still stood. By default, it was let to Fleamont to look after the boy in the event of her…in case Euphemia was unable to do so herself. Walburga probably thought he would be the first to die due to his “illness”, no matter how many times Euphemia explained that the hump on his back wasn’t fatal, so he couldn’t imagine she had fought that rule very hard.

Honestly, Fleamont had been dreading meeting his godson. Despite Minerva’s protests that he should be sent to boarding school with children his own age, he couldn’t bring himself to lose another family member; Euphemia would have welcomed the boy with open arms, after all.

In the end, Sirius had surprised him. He looked strikingly like his mother and, if the lawyer’s warnings about a ‘spiteful creature’ held any merit, he had inherited her temper as well beneath the misplaced fear that made him linger in the shadows. His request for a bit of earth had taken Fleamont totally off-guard and flooded him with memories of endless afternoons spent in Euphemia’s garden, one of the only times he and Walburga didn’t snipe at each other. Looking back, he may have been a rather sharp with the poor boy, and he wondered if there was a way to make it up to him.

The clock struck eleven and Fleamont rose, leaning on his cane and taking a lamp from the desk. The halls were mostly deserted by this time, which made it easy for him to slip down hidden ramps that were far less trying on his bad side than the grand stairs. The stag tapestry cast strange shadows when he pulled it aside, and he was grateful to see Minerva had turned out the lamps for the night; it was risky enough coming here in the first place.

The night was beautiful outside James’ window, washed clean by the storm that had slowed to a pattering drizzle. Someone had left a small bouquet of beautiful flowers on his nightstand; he reminded himself to ask Minerva where she found them the next morning. “Oh, Jamie,” he whispered as he sank into the soft chair by the bed. James had been so delicate when he was born, six weeks premature and from a labor of tragedy. The fragility was still clear in his sharp cheekbones and thin arms.

Euphemia had been sad that day: Walburga moved to India with her husband and new baby only a week prior, and even the garden struggled to cheer her. Maybe the swing had been slippery, or maybe her dress snagged, or maybe she had not paid attention to where she sat; whatever the reason, she fell, and two hours later Fleamont had a son and no wife. Even then, James had strong lungs, which he used at full capacity unless his father cradled him. He learned to favor Minerva once the grief caught up and Fleamont locked himself away.

From the moment James opened his eyes, Fleamont Potter knew he would never love anything or anyone as much as he loved the tiny baby in his arms. He loved James when he learned to walk, when he said his first words, and when he left new books or toys at the foot of the bed every year on his birthday. For years, he would come down every single night and tell him stories of brave knights and terrible dragons while he slept, because as much as it hurt to see him, he could not stay away.

The real problems began when James was eight years old and ill with pneumonia. In the midst of delirium, he heard the doctors talking and got it into his head that he was going to die. No amount of clarification from Minerva or the new doctors could convince him, and the rumors only grew until he simply gave up. He stayed in his room from then on, terrified of an illness he didn’t have. According to Minerva, the doctors that treated his aching muscles from atrophy and headaches from lack of fresh air had worsened the problem.

James mumbled and shifted in his sleep, and Fleamont quickly shielded the lamplight until silence fell once more. He was so proud of his son—nearly fifteen years old and growing more handsome every day. From what Minerva told him, James read everything he could get his hands on and was becoming quite intelligent as well. Fleamont may not have been able to look at his son in daylight for fear of spiraling, but that didn’t mean he loved him any less.

“You will get well, Jamie,” he said softly, fiercely, and brushed the thick black hair off James’ forehead. “I love you so much, my brave boy.”

He had to leave. Paris, maybe, or London. Anywhere but here, in this stale, dead house that would pull him under if he wasn’t careful. Fleamont decided to leave within the week, and he would not return until spring at the earliest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's play a fun game called 'Spot the Romantic Parallels'! Thank you to everyone who has left comments and kudos, especially @spellingmynamewrong and @Owl_Athena. You're the best, and I love reading your kind words!


	8. Wick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with a minor panic attack, so be aware if that triggers you. Again, it's nothing major, just basic symptoms.
> 
> I've been looking forward to publishing this chapter since I wrote the first draft. Hope you enjoy!

Lily had been right: spring on the moors was truly beautiful. The turning of the leaves at the end of autumn had been magnificent, and during the bitter cold of winter Sirius hid wild creatures for Remus in his own room so they wouldn’t freeze, but now the buds were starting to pop up and he knew the blooms would soon follow.

He and Remus worked double-time every day, planting hundreds of bulbs and seeds while continuing cleanup work that never seemed to end. Earlier in the year, when Remus was caring for a sick Petunia, Sirius had planted some mint straight into the ground; now, he spent most of his time digging up the twenty-foot section it had invaded. Remus laughed at him the whole time they removed it, but it wasn’t mean laughter—Sirius had learned to make that distinction rather quickly and often laughed at himself. Playful teasing was _fun_ , more fun than cutting comments ever had been, and the banter between him and his friends made him feel all warm inside.

Sirius visited James at least once a week, if not more, and they began building up a strong friendship over board games and midnight conversations. He still hadn’t told him the whole truth about the secret garden, but anytime James asked about it, he would describe it in as much detail as he could. It felt only fair to give him that bit of knowledge, and besides, Sirius was proud of his work.

The flipside of their friendship—or perhaps the bedrock on which it was founded—was that both of them had tempers worthy of storybook dragons. They never shouted at each other for fear of being discovered by McGonagall, and thankfully the snarling arguments they had burned out as fast as they flared up. Any lingering resentment was cleared up in mere minutes and the fights grew fewer and farther between as months passed, to the point where Sirius fell asleep in James’ bed twice. By some miracle, they woke before they were discovered on both occasions.

The trouble began, as it often did, with a beautiful day. James’ windows were painted shut to keep the spores out and Sirius decided the only logical solution was to take some of Hagrid’s tools, peel the paint off in the middle of the day, and open them with a little help from Remus. James had agreed—it was a brilliant idea.

“I think I’m going to try going outside soon,” James said as they chipped off a long strip of paint.

“You’re not afraid of spores anymore?” Sirius teased, earning himself a smack to the shoulder with a wide chisel.

“Ha, ha, you’re hilarious. I’ll wear a mask or something, it’ll be fine.”

Sirius snorted and glanced down at the grass below. “Hey, Remus is here!”

James rolled his eyes. “Of course he is, you lit up like a happy little candle.” Despite his grumbling, he wheeled closer and peered down as well. Remus waved up at them from atop his pony and Sirius gestured to the hooks on the outside of James’ windows. They were originally intended to keep the shutters on, but now they served a much better purpose. Remus nodded and pulled a long length of rope from his satchel, securing one end to his makeshift saddled and tying the other in a loop. It took two tries, but he successfully caught one window hook with the loop and motioned for the two of them to stand back.

With a creak, a groan, and a cracking noise that made Sirius flinch and check the door, the last bits of paint gave way and the window swung open. Fresh air billowed in, lifting the dust around them and ruffling their hair. James immediately wheeled back to the window and stuck his head out, inhaling deeply with a look of pure bliss on his face, clearly not caring about spores. “Excellent!” Sirius called down to Remus. “I’ll be right there!”

“What?” James’ smile faded and he turned around. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, we’re fixing the clematis trellis today. I told you this morning, remember?” James’ shocked and hurt expression showed that he clearly did not remember.

“But we just got the window open. You can’t just leave!”

“Well, I can’t stay here all day!” Sirius huffed. “McGonagall will find me and we’ll both be in trouble. Besides, I’m allowed to have other friends.”

“He’s not just a friend, though! You won’t come back now that you’ve got him, and I don’t have anyone else,” James snapped as an angry flush crept up to his ears.

“No, Prongs, he’s not just a friend. You’re being stupid. I’ll come and visit you as long as you stop acting like I’m something to hoard!” Sirius stomped out the door before James could argue more. He loved him like a brother, but sometimes he was so _selfish_.

“Hey! Come back here!” James shouted angrily behind him. It was a true miracle he didn’t have a chronic sore throat. “Sirius, don’t you dare leave!”

The back door was already ajar when he got to the kitchen and Sirius wished he could have had the satisfaction of throwing it open _and_ slamming it closed. Something about that combination was wonderfully vindictive. Outside, Remus was squinting up at James’ window, where multiple voices filtered through. “Quite a set of lungs on that one.”

“Tell me about it,” Sirius muttered as he hopped onto the pony’s back.

“Sirius, don’t leave me here!” James pleaded as they began to ride away. “Come back!”

“Oh, for _fuck’s sake_.” Somebody had to do something. James needed to be stopped. “ ‘Scuse me for a moment, I have a godbrother to throttle.”

“I’ll be in the garden when you’re done. Have fun!”

Sirius stormed back into the house, his blood boiling with irritation. James just had to go and ruin a perfectly good afternoon, didn’t he? Several people tried to stop him on the stairs, but he shouldered through them easily; he didn’t have time to linger. “Oi!” he yelled as he yanked back the stag tapestry. The two servants that were struggling to make James lie down backed away rapidly. “Stop shouting before I make you stop, and I’m louder than you are! You’re so selfish sometimes, did you know that?”

“I am not!” James sat up and balled his fists in the blankets. “I’m sick and you’re my only friend!”

“No sick person can yell like that!”

“Well, I can! I’m going to start coughing and get a hump on my back like my father, and then I’ll die and it’ll be your fault!”

“My fault?” They were practically screaming into each other’s faces by that point. “I’m the one who came and talked to you when nobody else did. You don’t have any friends because nobody likes you except me. You yell all the time and act like you’re going to die, but you’re not sick at all!”

“Yes, I am!”

“For the love of—” Sirius tackled James and wrestled him onto his stomach, pinning his arms and legs down to he wouldn’t lose an eye, then wrenched the back of his shirt up.

James’ protests cut off with a startled hiccup. “Wha—what are you doing?”

“Checking for lumps, you big baby.” Sirius poked along his shoulder blades none too gently. “The only lumps I can feel are your bones because you’re too damn skinny and you hardly eat anything. Your lungs obviously work fine, and you get headaches because you haven’t been outside in God knows how long. I asked Hagrid about spores, and he says they only affect people who are allergic to them. Do your eyes itch? Is your nose clogged?”

“Get off—”

“ _Is your nose clogged, James_?”

“No!”

“Then you’re fine and healthy and you can _stop shouting_.” Sirius heaved a sigh as he clambered off the bed.

“I’m not going to die?” James sat up and straightened his shirt out. He seemed genuinely stunned by the news.

“Not unless I kill you myself for wrecking my afternoon.”

“…sorry.”

“It’s alright. I used to be the same way.”

“What on earth is going on here?” Sirius turned to the door so fast his neck cracked. McGonagall stood in the doorframe, looking for all the world like a volcano on the verge of explosion. “How did you get in here?”

“I found the door while he was shouting—”

“I explicitly told you not to wander!” she screeched, grabbing Sirius by the wrist and hauling him out of the room.

“No, wait!” James’ pleas went unheard as the housekeeper whisked Sirius away.

“I cannot _believe_ —no, I can, you’ve been trouble from the start.” Fear and fury battled on McGonagall’s face. “I tried to get you into a boarding school goodness knows I tried, but your godfather would not listen. Do you have any idea how delicate James is?”

“He’s not sick!” Sirius protested. Maids watched silently from open rooms and staircases as they passed.

“I never said he was! That boy has been safe indoors for too long to have you endangering him.” Sirius met Lily’s frightened eyes in the crowd and she covered her mouth with her hands in horror. McGonagall stopped short and he nearly ran into her. “Lily Lupin, your services are no longer required in this house. If you cannot look after one silly boy, you cannot be expected to do anything of real use.”

“No, Mistress McGonagall, she had nothing to do with this—”

“You’re in enough trouble as it is, Sirius Black,” McGonagall interrupted, starting off down the hall again. As they rounded the corner. Sirius saw Lily sink to her knees with a sob. Lily, wonderful Lily, had been fired and it was all his fault. He had promised to be careful. “I’ll write to your godfather immediately. You’ll be gone by morning if I have anything to say about it.” The bacl door was still open from when Sirius entered and she nearly shoved him out of it. “Go back to the gardens where you belong, you foolish, wild boy.”

Sirius was running before the door even closed. He could hear James yelling upstairs, but it was muffled by the shrieking panic in his head that accompanied the pounding of his heart. His throat tightened and he poured on speed, sprinting through the hedges blindly to escape whatever this feeling was that hurt so bad, desperate for somewhere safe. There was rustling behind him as someone emerged from the orchards. “Sirius—”

“Go away!” Sirius ran from Hagrid’s concern like it burned him and took off down a side path, letting his legs go on autopilot while his brain fed an endless loop of _failure failure gone gone gone_ —

A poorly placed root sent him sprawling and knocked the wing from his lungs, jarring him enough to snap back into reality. After a few seconds of gasping for breath, he looked up and saw ivy softly swaying in the breeze. _Safe_. He fumbled for the key and jammed it into the lock with clumsy fingers, pushing it open just enough to stumble through.

He collapsed at the base of the willow tree, shaking so hard his teeth chattered and gulping for air like a dying fish. He had only just started to feel alive; he had friends now, a garden, and Remus. He couldn’t leave. It would break him.

“Sirius?” The creak of the garden door and light footsteps did nothing to quell the panic. “Hey, look at me, you’re okay—”

“No, I’m not,” he choked out around the lump in his throat. He couldn’t stop shaking, even as Remus gripped his shoulders. “I’m not okay, they’re going to kick me out, and _Lily_ —I can’t, I can’t.”

“Just breathe for me, alright? All you have to do is breathe.” Remus’ face swam into focus, calm and steady in a way Sirius had never seen before. “Nobody is going to kick you out.”

“McGonagall said I’d be gone by morning. Remus, the garden needs me. _James_ needs me.”

“And they’ll have you, as long as you keep breathing. In and out, do it with me.” Remus held his hands tight, acting as an anchor as Sirius began to calm down. “There you go.” He shifted to sit next to him, still holding one hand. “Better?”

“I think so,” Sirius said after a moment. “Yeah, I’m okay. I really don’t want to go, Remus. I was just trying to help.”

“They’d be wrong to make you go when you’ve done nothing but help,” Remus said fiercely. “Even if they did, you could come stay with my family.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Mum loves you, Lily’s your friend, and I’d be happy to have you.” A light blush colored his cheeks and Sirius leaned closer into his side. They had been together for six months, and he still felt like the luckiest person in the world.

“I’m not sure Lily wants to see me right now,” he said quietly.

“Why not? She talks about you all the time. I’m starting to think she likes you more than I do.”

Sirius didn’t laugh. “McGonagall fired her for not keeping me in line. I promised to keep her out of it—I never meant for her to get hurt, and I need to go apologize before something else happens.” He stood with a sigh and looked around at the garden. This was supposed to be a fun afternoon, filled with kisses and a picnic in between fixing the trellis. “Remus, I’m so sorry about today.”

“It’s okay.” Remus smiled up at him and tilted his head toward the door. “Go, I’ll be here when you’re done. Lily needs you more than I do right now.” He hesitated, then pulled Sirius down by the wrists and gave him a quick kiss. “For the road.”

Sirius knew the smile he returned was weak, but he did his best before jogging back into the labyrinth. The house was abuzz when he slipped in through the kitchen door and snuck up the servants’ staircase, but the only people he could hear behind the stag tapestry were James and… “Lily? Is that you?”

“Sirius!” they chorused with matching tones of relief as he ducked inside.

“Lily, I am so, so sorry about your job. I promised I’d be careful and I broke that promise. I hope you can forgive me.”

“I didn’t lose my job, actually,” Lily said. She looked shaken, but her voice was as strong as ever. “Although I do appreciate the apology. You’re forgiven.”

“But McGonagall said—”

“McGonagall said lots of things,” James interrupted with a frown. “However, until my father returns, I’m in charge of this house and everyone in it. Lily’s not going anywhere, and neither are you unless our head housekeeper wants to find a new house to manage.”

“It was quite impressive. I’ve never seen her look so shocked.” Lily smiled and James went bright pink beneath his bronze skin.

“So I don’t have to go?”

“I mean, if you want to, I _was_ kind of an—oof!” James nearly toppled over with the force of Sirius’ hug before returning it.

“Thank you,” Sirius mumbled into his shirt. “Thank you so much.”

“I couldn’t let you get away that easily, could I? You’re the only person that likes me,” James teased, releasing him. “Besides, we’re family.”

 _Family_. The breeze from the open window ruffled James’ hair and lifted the stray pieces of Lily’s, cooling the whole room down. Had it really been less than an hour since they opened it? Sirius exhaled slowly; family meant honesty, and he knew what he had to do. “I have to tell you something about the garden.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I LOVED writing the argument between Sirius and James. So many exclamation points!
> 
> Thank you for all the support and the kind words from the comments. They keep me excited about the story and motivate me more than you know!


	9. Where Life Begins Anew

“So you’ve known where my mother’s garden was the whole time and you didn’t tell me?” James and Lily gaped at him. “You’ve _been in it_?”

“I was afraid you’d tell someone or want it for yourself,” Sirius admitted. “I probably should have told you before.”

“I should get going,” Lily said, looking between them quickly. Sirius wasn’t quite sure what that glance meant, but he appreciated having some space with James. “Thanks for telling me about the garden, Sirius, and for the apology.”

“Of course, Lils. I’ll see you later?” Lily smiled and nodded as she returned to the outside hallway.

James was still staring at Sirius. “So those flowers you brought me…”

“Were from the garden, yes,” Sirius finished. “The roses are the best. Oh, here.” He dug in his pockets for a moment and held the key out. The idea of giving it up still sent a swoop of unease through his gut, but he couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. “I think this was your mum’s.”

James took it with careful hands, tracing the curling design at the top. “What’s the garden like? You’ve told me about it a million times, but it feels…different now.”

“It’s like magic,” Sirius said honestly. James closed his eyes and exhaled, gripping the key. “I don’t really know how else to describe it. When I first went in, everything was brown and dead, and now it’s just a dream come true. The roses take up an entire wall in every color you can think of. Remus and I planted bluebells a while back, and those started blooming a couple days ago, so there’s a huge blanket of blue flowers on the west side. The willow tree is my favorite spot—it’s by the pond, so it’s always shady and cool.”

“I’d love to see it someday,” James said softly. “It sounds beautiful.”

“More beautiful than you could ever imagine.”

They laid there for a moment, letting their words and their dreams hang in the air, until James opened his eyes and sat up. “Next time you go, I’m coming with you. I’ll go to the secret garden and learn to walk and I’ll never be sick again.”

Sirius wasn’t sure if illness worked that way, but James looked like he would make it happen through sheer willpower if necessary. “Alright. If McGonagall agrees, I bet Remus would help me get you down the stairs.”

“McGonagall can’t stop me now. Do you think Remus will bring his animals?”

“I’d be surprised if he didn’t.”

“We’ll go tomorrow morning, then, at nine.”

Sirius glanced out the window. “Prongs, I think it’s supposed to rain tomorrow.”

“I don’t care.” James’ voice was surprisingly fierce. “I won’t stay here any longer than I have to.”

“Then I’m in,” Sirius said, nodding slowly. “I’ve got to go tell Remus the plan, but I promise I’ll be back later. Can you handle McGonagall?”

“Absolutely. Don’t let me keep you here!” James gave him a friendly shove toward the door and grinned. “Go on, you’ve got someone waiting for you.”

\-------------------------------

The next morning dawned clear and bright, much to Sirius’ surprise. The idea of bringing James to the garden simultaneously thrilled and terrified him, and he had barely slept the night before. He wanted to share the magic, but he was afraid of destroying the sanctity of his and Remus’ sanctuary. _Too late now_ , he thought as he got dressed and opened the windows.

Breakfast was a quick affair; Lily sent him off to James’ room with a tight hug and a ‘good luck’, as if she could sense the nervous energy humming in his veins. The stag tapestry was daunting for the first time since the night he met James, and he had to take a minute to steel himself for the day ahead. “Morning, Prongs, you ready?”

James was sitting up and already dressed, twisted his hands in the sheets. “Are you nervous? I’m nervous. Why am I nervous?”

“Everything’s going to be fine.” _I hope_. “You’ll love the garden.” _I really, really hope._

“Am I late?” The tapestry rustled and a fox trotted into the room, licking its lips.

“Did that fox just talk?” James whispered, wide-eyed.

“No, that was me, I’m just a bit stuck—” More rustling noises and muffled cursing came from the tapestry until Remus appeared with Soot on his shoulder and a chipmunk cradled in his palms. “Good morning, you need a proper door.”

“All you had to do was move it to the side,” Sirius snickered as the fox hopped onto the bed and curled up in James’ lap.

“I’d like to see you try that with a bird on your shoulder and a fox that’s begging to be stepped on!” Remus protested, cuffing him lightly on the shoulder before turning to James. “I assume you’re James Potter?”

“Yes, hullo.” James squeaked as the fox began rubbing its ears on his chest. “Padfoot, I don’t care what else happens today, this is the best thing ever.”

Remus settled at the foot of the bed next to Sirius and petted the fox’s back. “His name is Captain, and this—” the chipmunk ran onto James’ shoulder. “—is Murphy.”

James looked like he was about to pass out from happiness, or worse, cry. “Watch out for the crow, he bites,” Sirius warned. Soot squawked indignantly.

“He does not,” Remus scoffed.

“He tried to bite me! You saw him try to eat my face!”

“That was months ago, get over it!”

“I feel like I’m missing something.” James narrowed his eyes. “Are you flirting?”

“Yes,” they said in unison. Remus rolled his eyes and lifted one of James’ hands to Soot’s chest. The bird, of course, immediately put his head in James’ palm and made happy warbling noises. Traitor.

“Remus, I’ve known you for five minutes and you’re my best friend,” James said as he petted the demon bird.

Sirius frowned. “What am I, chopped liver?”

“You don’t count, we’re brothers.” James didn’t even look away from Soot, but Sirius felt like he had been socked in the chest.

“We should—we should probably head outside now,” he said, hoping the others didn’t hear his voice crack. Judging from the soft look Remus gave him, it didn’t work.

“For sure!” James beamed and Sirius helped him into his wheelchair. A small crowd of servants, including Lily, had gathered in the hall and at the base of the stairs to see them off.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” McGonagall asked, smoothing her apron hem. “You certainly don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do.” James’ voice brooked no room for argument and McGonagall visibly held her breath as they carried him down the stairs. Sirius was a little offended by her lack of trust in him. “I’d like to remind everyone that we are not to be followed today.” A murmur of assent filled the room and James leaned toward Sirius. “Padfoot?”

“Yeah?” he whispered back.

“How fast do you think this wheelchair can go?”

A slow smile spread across Sirius’ face and he saw McGonagall blanch, even though she was well out of earshot. “Only one way to find out.” With a solemn nod to the congregation, he turned James to the open door and took off running. Several people gasped behind them, but the breeze was blowing and the sun was shining; nothing could slow them down now.

James whooped as they entered the maze with Remus hot on their heels and Sirius decided to take the long way to there in case any gardeners trailed after them. They flew past orchards and flats of herbs with Captain and Murphy cradled in James’ lap as Soot cawed overhead; Sirius could feel the sun’s warmth filling him up from the inside.

“Alright, Prongs, close your eyes.” Sirius slowed to a walk as they squeezed into the side path and handed the wheelchair off to Remus. He opened the door as quietly as he could, letting the scent of sun-warmed flowers wash over them before beckoning Remus toward the first place he wanted to show James. Every time a bird sang or the wind rushed through the trees, James smiled, though he faithfully kept his eyes shut tight. “You can look now.”

Sirius and Remus stood back as James opened his eyes and saw Euphemia’s roses for the first time. His breath caught in a disbelieving laugh and he gripped the armrests of his chair, leaning forward to touch the blossoms. “You were right,” he said, sounding a little choked up. “You were right, they’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”

“Do you want to see the rest?” Sirius asked after a moment. “It’s a big garden.”

James nodded and set Captain on the ground gently. Sirius remembered how overwhelmed he had been when he first saw the garden, even though it was mostly brown, and walked extra slowly through each section so James could process it all.

“This is the willow I told you about,” he said as he wheeled James under its curving branches. Remus raised his eyebrows in question, and Sirius flushed. “Remember how I said the temperature is really nice over here?”

“Yeah, it’s perfect!” James sighed as the shade provided some relief from the rare spring sun. “This would be a great place for a picnic.”

“Oh, it is.” Remus bit back a smile until Sirius stepped lightly on his foot. It just so happened that they had kissed for the first time during a picnic beneath the willow, but James didn’t need to know that.

A crackling noise and low muttering from the roses made them all freeze. Something scraped along the top of the wall and Sirius crept out, watching silently as a ladder swayed, then stilled as someone began to climb up. “ _Hagrid_?”

The groundskeeper jolted and nearly fell off his ladder in surprise. “Sirius? What are you—you went in? After all my warnings, no less. I should have known you’d be trouble from the— _oh_.” Hagrid’s jaw dropped as he looked out over the garden.

“Everything alright, Padfoot?” James asked as Remus pushed him out of the willow’s safety. “Hello, you must be Hagrid!”

Hagrid’s eyebrows looked like they were about to disappear into his hair. “Blimey, you look just like her,” he sniffled. “Is this—did you--?”

“Remus and I cleaned up the garden a bit,” Sirius confessed. “We didn’t think anyone would mind.”

“Mind? _Mind_?” Hagrid huffed and waved his hand around. “It’s a ruddy miracle! You brought this garden back to life, young man. It looks just like it did when she was alive.”

“You knew my mother?”

“Aye, Miss Euphemia asked me to keep her roses for her.” Hagrid puffed up with pride. “She asked me and nobody else, mind you. Even when she went away and your dad locked it up, I came to care for ‘em. She gave her orders first, after all.”

“Thank you,” James said earnestly. “You did a wonderful job.”

“Oh, now, don’t be gettin’ sappy on me. Being here, in this place—well, I reckon it’s enough to make you well again.”

“I’m not sick, actually.

“But what about your crooked legs?” Hagrid asked, genuinely bewildered. Sirius winced.

“My _what_?” James’ voice was suddenly tight with anger. “My legs aren’t crooked at all, thank you very much.”

“Prongs—” Sirius warned as James threw the blankets off his lap and gripped the armrests.

“I’m perfectly healthy,” James gritted out as he began to stand. His face was tense with the effort and his knees knocked together, but slowly, bit by bit, he rose.

 _Come on, you can do it_ , Sirius urged in his head. _You can do it, you can do it, you can do it_. James wobbled for a moment, then righted himself and stood straight, taller than Sirius. “Oh, bless me,” Hagrid said in a hushed whisper.

“You can’t tell anyone you saw us here.” James transferred one hand to Remus’ arm for support. “Nobody can know we found the garden.”

“I’ll keep your secret, don’t you worry.” Hagrid hesitated. “Can I still tend the roses?”

“Of course you can,” Sirius said firmly. “You kept them alive all these years, and we’d be hopeless without your help.”

With a final brisk nod, Hagrid disappeared behind the wall. James’ legs gave out almost immediately and he collapsed into his chair, shaking from the strain but flushed with excitement. “That was incredible,” Remus said as he rubbed circulation back into his forearm. “How the hell did you do that?”

“No idea,” James panted. “Spite?”

“It’s an excellent motivator,” Sirius agreed. Remus looked between the two of them and shook his head. “What?”

“Most people don’t work miracles out of spite.”

“It’s highly efficient!” Sirius protested.

“Do we have any water?” James interrupted. “As much as I love being a bystander to your weird flirting, I did just stand up for the first time.”

\----------------------

All of Sirius’ fears about showing James the garden were quelled mere hours after he realized how much fun it was to have a newcomer around. They showed him all the nooks and crannies, each hidey-hole for the birds, and every budding flower they could find. Each day, they worked on standing up for longer periods of time, and James rapidly began building muscle in his legs as he worked alongside Sirius and Remus. The chores went much faster with three pairs of hands; as spring marched on, the garden shaped up in record time.

Two weeks after Hagrid discovered their secret, Remus brought another lamb into the garden, which James immediately made grabby hands for. “Lambs learn to walk within a few days of being born,” Remus said as Sirius untangled stray morning glories from the nearest trellis.

“Really?” James looked down at the tiny creature and smiled scratching it behind the ears. “You’re a talented little girl, aren’t you?”

“Boy.”

“Boy. Sorry.” He cuddled it for a moment longer, then bit his lip and handed it to Remus. “Hold this for me. Padfoot, will you stand over there? Actually, Remus, you might want to put the sheep down.”

As soon as James pushed his gasses up on his nose and stood, using the other side of arch for support, Sirius knew what he was planning. “Slow and steady, Prongs,” he said, holding his arms out and moving a bit closer. “Take your time. You can do this.”

The few steps between them felt like a canyon as James shifted his right foot forward and met Sirius’ eyes. When he put his weight on it and it didn’t buckle, he moved his left foot to match; for a moment, he listed to the side, but waved Remus off when he tried to help. “No, I can do this.”

He took another step and let go of the arch, and Sirius held his breath.

Another step, less careful and more solid.

On the fourth, he lurched forward and stumbled forward on instinct, falling straight into Sirius’ arms. “You did it!” He couldn’t contain his elation, even though he was basically shouting in James face. “Prongs, you did it!”

James’ eyes went wide and he burst out laughing, wrapping him in a tight hug as Sirius spun them around. Remus whooped and joined the hug, all three of them yelling incoherently and literally jumping with joy.

After that boost in morale, James steadily improved. While walking was difficult and he had to take a lot of breaks in his wheelchair, they always returned to the manor with breathless smiles and dirt-streaked clothes. James wanted to surprise his father with his newfound ability and begged them to keep it a secret, but eventually he got impatient and asked Sirius to find his father’s address so he could write a letter. Sirius thought it was a fantastic idea, but McGonagall refused to give either of them the address.

“Mr. Potter is traveling for his health and it is not your place to bother him,” she sad whenever they asked. Soon, Sirius grew tired of waiting and figured his uncle would probably have a list of his addresses in his office, so he waited until everyone was asleep and snuck in.

The dogs were gone, thankfully; he didn’t like the idea of being mauled mere months after his sixteenth birthday. However, the desk was a mess and it took ages for Sirius to sift through all of the paperwork and boring letters for clues. There was nothing but a vague itinerary relating to Fleamont Potter’s extended vacation, but Sirius didn’t leave completely empty-handed: a packet of photographs was spilling out of a cubby on one side of the desk and he snagged those before sneaking back into his room.

Eight months prior, creeping through Grifin Manor at night would have given Sirius an intense case of the heebie-jeebies—now, it was becoming a daily event. James was tucked into the wide windowsill when he arrived, staring out at the moonlit heather. It took Sirius off-guard to see how much he had changed, sometimes; the blanched, sickly boy he used to be was gone, replaced by someone rather normal-looking, if a bit skinny still. Sirius could tell that the lively glow of Euphemia Potter simmered just beneath the surface.

“Hey,” he hissed as he closed the door and hopped on his bed. “I didn’t see any addresses, but I did find something you might like.”

The photographs were all sepia, like the one in Euphemia’s old bedroom, and the light of the candle made the figures ripple and dance. Most of them showed a much younger Fleamont and Euphemia in the garden, smiling by the roses or sitting on the swing, and quite a few had been taken while she was pregnant with James. Once in a while, they found one with Walburga, who looked happier than Sirius could ever remember. James stayed late into the night, shuffling through photographs with him, until they both dozed off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: James Potter Cuddles ALL The Animals
> 
> Comments and kudos feed my heart, so don't be afraid to pop in with one! Only two chapters left...


	10. The One I Was Born To Love

When Sirius awoke with James curled into his side and the sun peeking out over the far hills, he almost panicked. All their work to make sure James’ secret remained a surprise would be wasted if Lily or, god forbid, McGonagall, walked in on them without the wheelchair. “Prongs. Prongs, wake up.”

“Hmm?” James scrunched his nose and glared sleepily through one eye. His glasses were askew and there was a small dent on the bridge of his nose where they usually rested.

“You’ve got to get back to your room before they realize you’re gone,” Sirius said around a yawn, still half-asleep. “D’you want to take the pictures with you?”

Groaning, James dragged himself upright and rubbed his eyes. It was a miracle they had woken up so early after such a late night; the candles had burned to stubs. “Yeah, if that’s alright with you.”

“They’re your parents.” Sirius shrugged and gathered the few by his feet into a small stack. “I’ll come by around nine-thirty so you can take a nap, if you like.” When James didn’t respond, Sirius looked back over his shoulder. “Prongs?”

“What? Sorry, I was just—nine-thirty sounds great.” He glanced up from the photographs in his hands and smiled sleepily. For a moment, Sirius wondered if he should accompany his back to his bedroom in case he dozed off while walking; it would be a shame to fall down the stairs so soon after regaining his ability to walk.

James left through the secret passage and Sirius watched him until he vanished down the corridor. The windowsill was cold when he returned to it, staring out over the moor—it was shaping up to be a Soft Day, where the sun warmed everything while the clouds kept them shaded as they worked. Perfect for a day in the garden. He drifted off and on until Lily came by with breakfast and joined him. Drinking tea in the morning with Lily remained one of his favorite pastimes.

When Sirius swung by James’ room at nine-thirty, a blanket-wrapped _something_ was tucked into the wheelchair and James refused to tell him anything about it. It took all of Sirius’ meager impulse control—plus James’ tight grip—to stop him from grabbing it and running away as they went down the stairs. “Just one hint,” he begged for the hundredth time as they reached the safety of the garden.

“It’s a surprise.” James wrapped the item tighter and held it close to his chest as he clambered out the wheelchair and stepped carefully out of Sirius’ reach.

“I’ll help you carry it if you show me.”

“I’m not sick anymore, remember? Besides, it only takes ten minutes to get to the garden!”

It took twenty minutes, and by the time they arrived James was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. He might have been able to walk, but his upper-body strength was still sorely lacking. “I thought you were never going to show up,” Remus groaned, pushing the door open for them.

“It’s not my fault, Prongs is the one who brought his damn rock collection.”

“It’s a surprise!” James insisted. “God, you’re so impatient.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and followed Remus through the door, taking a deep breath as the scent of the garden wrapped him in a warm, floral hug. Remus made a beeline for the patch of sun on the pavilion and flopped down with a happy sigh with James wrestled with The Surprise. Finally, grumbling under his breath, he laid out the parts on the ground and began to assemble it. “Is that a camera?”

“Mmhmm.”

“You’re doing it wrong.”

“Shut up, Padfoot, I’m concentrating.”

“Do you want a hand?”

“…yes.”

Between the two of them, the camera was standing and primed in less than five minutes, and James aimed it straight at Remus, who hadn’t moved a muscle. With a shudder and a click, the moment was captured forever. “Did you just take a picture?” Remus asked, cracking one eye open. “Make sure you get my good side.”

“We can’t get a picture of both sides at once,” Sirius called, and Remus tugged his cap down to hide his smile. “Aha, I got you that time!”

“Gross,” James complained. “I try to take a decent picture of my friend and you two get all mushy.”

Sirius considered teasing him about his constant questions about Lily before realizing that it might not be the best idea to bring that up in front of her twin brother. He settled for bumping James just hard enough that his leg sunk into the pond halfway up his shin. “Oops.”

“You little-“ James lunged for him, but Sirius ducked out of the way in the nick of time and ran for the tall oak tree, climbing it as fast as he could. James still ran like a fawn, all knobby knees and stilted steps if he moved too quickly, so Sirius made the best possible use of his time: he hung upside-down by the knees and made faces until James caught up. The playful punch to the shoulder was well worth it.

The _clunk-click_ of the camera startled them both and they looked back to see Remus emerge from beneath the hood with a grin. “There, now we’re even.”

“Oh, I have an idea!” James tugged on Sirius’ vest. “Go sit on the swing, Pads. Remus, you too.”

Sirius slid down and jogged over without protest.

James frowned, cocking his head to the side. “Remus, put your legs the other way.”

“I see how it is,” Remus scoffed as he turned around, narrowly missing kicking Sirius in the stomach. That was really the only downside to his mile-long legs. “Make sure Sirius gets his lovely face in the picture, but my back is the real star of the show.”

“You did say to get your good side,” James teased, ducking under the camera hood. “Okay, hold there.”

He probably spouted some more instructions after that, but Sirius was too busy rocking the swing with one foot and staring into Remus’ eyes to hear him. The deep green was interrupted by bits of amber and chocolate brown that drew him in like a magnet every time; it was unfair, but beautifully so. The late spring sun had darkened the freckles on Remus’ nose and reflected off the pale scars from countless feisty animals crisscrossing his skin, and Sirius wanted to kiss every single one of them. He brushed a stray lock of auburn hair back—it was getting longer, nowhere close to Sirius’ own, but long enough that the soft waves had turned into loose curls that made him look even more wind-ruffled.

“—ius! Oi!” James’ exasperated voice dragged Sirius back into reality and he blinked as the fog rose. The camera was still standing a few meters away and behind it, James inspected his fingernails with far too much focus. “Oh, sorry, are you done making moony eyes at each other? Can we get on with our afternoon?” He was barely stifling a smile.

“Moony…” Sirius looked back at Remus and slowly grinned. “Oh my god, that’s your nickname now.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Prongs, what do you think?”

“Padfoot, I think it’s brilliant.”

“You two are a cruel and unusual punishment,” Remus groaned, dropping his forehead onto Sirius’ shoulder with a smile.

“Yeah, but I’m _your_ cruel and unusual punishment, Moony,” Sirius cackled and kissed the top of his head. “Scoot over so Prongs and I can get a proper picture where I’m not upside-down.”

\------------------

They practically ran over McGonagall on their way out of the kitchen a few days later. For a tense few seconds, she looked them both over with narrowed eyes, before nodding. “You look healthy,” she said with…was that a smile? “Don’t let me keep you here any longer, boys. Goodness knows the outdoors are better for you.” She squeezed James’ shoulder as they passed and gave Sirius a look that as definitely, shockingly, a smile.

“I didn’t know her face could do that,” Sirius muttered as the door closed. “I think she actually tolerates me now.”

“She’s got a lot on her plate most of the time.” James shrugged. “When I was little, she read me bedtime stories on holidays or my birthday. I bet she appreciates a break now and then.”

The bubble of McGonagall’s approval popped as they neared the garden and heard multiple people talking inside. Sirius’ heart plummeted. Had one of the gardeners found the door? Should he have locked it before going to lunch? It was only by the grace of James that he was still living at Griffin Manor. Carefully, he pushed the door open, motioning for James to stay behind him.

“Give it back!” A shrill voice demanded. Sirius froze, staring at the tiny girl who glared up at the oak tree with the force of a thousand burning suns. Her fists were balled up and both of her shoes were inexplicably missing.

“Remus, what the hell are you doing?” Sirius blurted, stepping fully into the garden. Remus was so startled that he dropped the shoe he was dangling and nearly hit the little girl. “Who is this?”

“My name is Petunia.” The little girl marched over and scowled up at him. “Who are you and why are you in my brother’s garden?”

“ _His_ garden?” Sirius raised his eyebrows at Remus. “First of all, this is _our_ garden, and second of all, you brought your sister?”

“They followed me in!”

“ _They_?”

“Remus, is this the boy you’ve been talking about?” A boy appeared from the branches just above him, hanging from his knees in classic Lupin fashion. “Hello! I’m Frank. Did you know I’m almost fourteen?”

“Oh, you were talking about me?” Sirius winked dramatically at Remus, who gave his little brother a murderous look.

“You’ve got horrible manners,” Petunia sniffed, flouncing back to the tree.

“At least he doesn’t throw shoes at people,” Remus countered as he clambered down and handed another small boot to her. “Is James with you?”

“Yeah, he’s outside. Prongs, you can come in now!” He shouted the last part over his shoulder and received no response. “Prongs?”

The door opened again and James entered with a redheaded woman behind him. “Sorry, hello.”

“Mum, Tuney threw her shoes at Remus!” Frank called from his perch. There was a loud thud. “Ow! Mum, Tuney threw a show at _me_!”

“Petunia, keep your shoes to yourself,” Hope Lupin chided. She looked quite a lot like Lily—or rather, Lily looked like her—but she had Remus’ darker eyes and dimples. “And you are…?”

“Sirius Black, ma’am.” Sirius offered his hand and she shook it firmly.

“It’s lovely to meet you at last. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“ _Mum_ ,” Remus hissed as his neck flushed pink.

“Lily talks about you all the time,” Hope continued with a quick wink. “Apparently, you’ve caused quite an uproar at the manor.”

“It’s a talent,” Sirius said, grinning. “So, Mr.-Sneaky-Lupin, how on earth did you manage to lead three whole people to our super-secret garden?”

“It wasn’t on purpose. Petunia and Frank followed me all the way from home and I didn’t even see them until they were already inside.” Remus rested an elbow on each of his siblings’ heads. “But they won’t snitch on us, right?”

“You bet!” Frank chirped at the same time Petunia groaned an ‘ugh, fine’ and shoved Remus’ arm away. Sirius was liking this girl more and more.

“Prongs, are you alright with it?”

“Sure, why not?” James shrugged. “It’ll be fun to have more people who know about it.”

“So how did you find this place?” Hope asked as she walked to the base of the pavilion and took a blanket from her basket. “I thought it was locked, and the key was buried.”

“I found Euphemia’s key and followed a robin in.” Sirius smoothed the blanket out and helped unload some of the food. “I thought it was dead at first, but Remus said it was just sleeping. We started cleaning it up about eight or nine months ago.”

“I didn’t start coming until April,” James added. “By then, everything was blooming.”

Hope hummed and sat back on her heels, looking around at the vibrant garden. “You certainly have a way with it. I’ve heard stories about Euphemia’s garden, and this one is just as lovely.”

Sirius glowed under her praise. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Call me Mrs. Lupin, lovey.”

“Are they causing you too much trouble yet, Mum?” Remus called from the patch of wildflowers he was showing Frank and Petunia.

“Not as much trouble as my own do,” Hope responded with a bubbling laugh. “Though I’m sure Minerva has her hands full.”

“You know McGonagall?” James stopped cutting the loaf of bread and shared a look with Sirius. The two women were such total opposites; it was hard to imagine them in the same social circles.

“Minerva helped us settle in when we moved here from Port Talbot.” Mrs. Lupin’s words were even more accented than Remus and Lily’s, and Sirius liked the soft swaying sounds. “A wonderful woman. Your father helped us out as well, James.”

James’ face fell. “I wish he’d come home already so we can show him the garden. I wanted to surprise him by walking, and I’m just dying to tell him.”

“I can’t imagine he’ll be gone much longer.” Hope squeezed his hand gently, then reached past his elbow and into the grass, returning with a perfect four-leaf clover. “Well, isn’t it our lucky day! Oh, that’s a lovely one.”

Sirius’ jaw dropped. “I didn’t know we had clover in here!”

“Given the right care, it’ll grow anywhere, and I’ve always had a knack for finding lucky things.” She pinched the stem between her thumb and forefinger and held it out to them. “Make a wish!”

James shut his eyes immediately, but Sirius hesitated. He could wish for a healthy garden, but that dream was already accomplished as long as he stuck around to care for it. He could wish for his uncle’s safe return, but it was more than likely James was doing the same. He looked over at the youngest Lupins chasing Remus, then at James, and finally at Hope and her twinkling eyes. _I wish for a family_ , he thought. _I wish for people who will love me and want me and let me stay, no matter what._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter! It's a shortie, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity for some wholesome family dynamics and self-indulgent romance. The Lupins have consistently been my favorites to write, and I hope you enjoy them as much as I do! Please leave comments and kudos; I love hearing from you all <3


	11. As Long As You Will Have Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! There's a another POV change in this, so keep an eye out for it :)

Fleamont Potter dreamed of his wife. This was not an unusual occurrence and he did not think much of it as her voice carried across the cold moors, calling to him. “Monty!” She sounded as joyful as he remembered. “Monty, where did you go?”

“I’m here!” he cried as he scanned the hills of heather and broom for her shining light. “Euphemia, I’m here!”

Her playful laughter echoed in the howling wind and suddenly he was in a maze of hedges, following the sound of her footsteps. “Monty, come to my garden! I’m in the garden, silly, come find me!”

He saw the hidden side path ahead and ran for it, pushing through the ivy and opening the door with an ease that did not come in real life. Even in his dreams, the garden smelled like her.

His wife, however, was not alone: Sirius Black knelt next to her, clearing a patch of dead grass with an slight smile. He was stronger and less waxen than he had been all those months ago in Fleamont’s office—he looked alive.

“I’m in the garden with Jamie, my love! Come find me!” Euphemia beamed at him once more, surrounded by her beloved flowers and their godson, before a loud whistle shattered the vision and Fleamont awoke with a gasp.

“The garden.” His back ached from sitting in the hard wooden chair for so long. The train whistled again and he shook his head, clinging to her last smile.

“Sir? It’s time to go.” The porter in front of him looked concerned.

“Yes, it is,” he muttered. “I must return home at once.”

“But sir—”

“At once!”

‘At once’ turned into ‘as soon as possible’, then devolved even further into ‘a week at the earliest’. Fleamont was plagued by nerves during the day; his only reprieve came at night, when he followed Euphemia into the garden and stayed with her until morning. The journey on the ship and the bumpy ride aboard the train dragged on endlessly through nameless fields and cities, and he constantly felt as though he would be shaken out of his skin in the cramped compartments.

Though it was the shortest leg of the voyage, the final carriage ride to Griffin Manor was by far the worst part and he spent every second of it waiting to get out and _go_. He arrived at half-past two in the afternoon, six days after his first dream of Euphemia and many months after Sirius Black asked for a bit of earth. He immediately went into the house without bothering to remove his traveling cloak or hat.

“Minerva! Minerva, I need to speak with you!”

The tell-tale click of her boots on the stone floors rang above the commotion in the kitchens and she appeared a moment later with two maids on her heels, struggling to remove her apron. “Mr. Potter, I didn’t think you were returning home for another month—”

“Where is my godson?” Sirius had featured in far too many of his dreams for him to be uninvolved with…well, with whatever was happening to him. “And where is my son?”

Minerva seemed startled by his abrupt energy. “In their rooms, I should assume. They were just here for lunch and didn’t say anything about leaving.”

Fleamont was partway up the stairs before she finished speaking, gritting his teeth against the smarting pain on his bad side as he climbed. The tapestry to James’ bedroom was still when they arrived, but his bed was empty. “ _Where is my son, Minerva_?”

His trusted housekeeper and friend was clearly just as shocked as he was as she pulled back the bedcovers and looked around, as if James were hiding somewhere. “I—I don’t know, sir.”

Fleamont swept into the hall again and all but ran to Sirius’ bedroom, his mind buzzing. Deep down, he knew where they were—he just didn’t want to accept it. Sirius’ door was open a crack and, like James’, empty. Minerva covered her mouth with her hand as she entered, stifling a shriek. “And Sirius?”

“But they were _here_ —”

“Two children, Minerva! I asked you to look after two children!” Fleamont’s nerves were frayed after a week of crushing stress. “One of them can’t even walk.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Potter,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “I’ll have my resignation in by tonight.”

His frustration deflated almost instantly. What was he doing? This was Minerva McGonagall he was speaking to, not some foolish milkmaid who could barely tie her shoes. This was his friend and confidant, the most capable woman he knew. “You’ll do no such thing. This house would fall to pieces without you, dear lady. I apologize for shouting.”

“I beg your pardon, sir.” The short redhead in the hall twisted the edge of her apron in her hands. The oldest Lupin girl, he thought—he could recall offering her a job to help support her family.

“Yes?”

“James and Sirius have been spending quite a lot of time in the gardens with my brother recently. I might check there for them.”

The confirmation of his fear settled like a stone in his gut. “Of course,” he sighed. “Thank you. Minerva, please get some tea before you faint.”

He left the house through the back door at a much slower pace than he had entered, limping past the bewildered gardeners. “Back already, Mr. Potter?”

“Afternoon, Hagrid. Have you seen Sirius or James today?”

“Aye, sir, I have. Came out here not an hour ago, whoopin’ and hollerin’ with Remus Lupin. A right double act, those two have become.” Fleamont nodded politely and went on his way. He had always appreciated the groundskeeper—Euphemia trusted him so completely with her treasured roses and he was wise in ways Fleamont could scarcely believe.

It had been fifteen years since he visited her garden, but he had never forgotten the way there. The paths were so familiar; it was almost as if he were going home. He heard the boys before he even saw the side path. “It’s my turn, Moony!”

“Are you going to follow the rules this time? No peeking!”

“Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Just put the damn thing on, Prongs.”

Fleamont had to fight past the overgrown bushes to reach the path and wondered how they had managed to fit James’ wheelchair through the mess of branches. A section of the thick ivy swayed more than the rest as he drew closer—the door was open, then, but how? His key was buried by Euphemia’s gravestone, and nobody had ever found her copy.

 _Unless…_ Understanding struck him like a bolt from the blue and he nearly groaned aloud. How could he have missed the signs? Minerva said Sirius had been spending all day outside with nothing to play with, and only a few days later he asked for a bit of earth, as long as no one was using it. In her letters, Minerva said James had become much more pleasant without an apparent cause. Fleamont would bet his whole fortune that Sirius had found both the garden and a new friend right under their noses. With butterflies in his stomach, he pushed open the door to Euphemia’s garden.

It was magnificent.

Wildflowers covered the ground in a technicolor carpet and the trees danced as birds flew between them. The back wall was completely covered in blooming roses, and even the little pond had been saved: tiny pink flowers decorated the border of the overflowing waterlilies. He saw Sirius and another boy, who he assumed was Remus, crouched behind a magnolia bush and trying to conceal their laughter. When Fleamont stepped fully inside, Sirius gripped Remus’ arm and went ghost-white with terror. The garden became very still.

In the middle of it all was James, and he was _walking_.

The blindfold over his eyes made him stumble as he swung his arms around, grinning freely. He was taller than Fleamont had imagined, and so much stronger than he could ever remember. The delicate child was gone, leaving a healthy boy in its place.

“Padfoot, you better not be behind me again,” James laughed, whirling around. A branch creaked nearby and he swatted it. “Climbing trees is against the rules, Moony! You’re such a hypocrite!”

Sirius and Remus were standing now, but Fleamont had eyes only for his son, who drew closer to him with each step. James’ smile widened when a twig broke beneath Fleamont’s cane and he reached out, grabbing his arm. “Gotcha! Hang on, why are you wearing your coat?” James felt along both of his arms, slowly working his way up with the blindfold still on. His triumphant smile faded as it became clear that he had not, in fact, tagged one of his friends. Carefully, he touched Fleamont’s face.

The breath rushed from his lungs as James mapped the planes and angles with feather-light touches. He yanked the blindfold off and his chest hitched, eyes wide with shock. “Dad?”

It didn’t hurt anymore. When Fleamont looked into those deep brown eyes, he saw only his son, whom he loved so much he feared he would burst from it. “Hello, Jamie.”

\-----------------------

The earth was shifting beneath Sirius’ feet.

“My wish came true,” James said with a startled laugh as his father—his _father_ —leaned into his touch. “You came home! Are you surprised?”

“Surprised?” Fleamont chuckled. “Yes, Jamie, I’m surprised.”

“I’m not sick anymore, isn’t it wonderful?” James was practically vibrating with happiness and Sirius felt nauseous. Remus sniffled next to him, wiping his eyes with the edge of his sleeve.

“Yes, it is.” Fleamont looked down at his son with such adoration that it made Sirius’ chest ache in a place he hadn’t felt since arriving at Griffin Manor. He had forgotten how much it hurt.

“It was the garden that did it,” James said, taking his father’s hand and leading him to the pavilion with a spring in his step. “Sirius found it, and Remus knows everything about plants, and I can’t wait to show you everything!”

They disappeared from view behind the columns and Sirius was suddenly aware of how shallow his breaths had become. Now that Fleamont was back and James was well, they would be a proper family. Once again, Sirius would be an extra, the orphaned godson, _unwanted_. They no longer needed him, and neither did the garden.

 _Nobody wants you, not anyone in all of India or anywhere else_. Lucius Malfoy’s snide voice rang in his ears and punched a small wheeze from his lungs. His parents hadn’t wanted him, and neither had the Malfoys. McGonagall barely tolerated him and Fleamont had dismissed him abruptly the first and only time they met. The cycle, it seemed, would never end, so Sirius did the only thing he could think of: he ran.

The hedges blurred in the corners of his vision as he ran for the open fields of the moor, away from the rejection that was sure to come. His throat clogged and his eyes itched as he leaned into a sturdy bush to catch his breath, choking down tears. “Sirius?” Remus’ voice, always so gentle, cut through the clanging in his head as he placed a hand on Sirius’ shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t you get it?” He wrenched away from the touch and whirled around, too angry and upset to swipe at the tears threatening to spill over. “ _No one wants me_!” The words ripped from somewhere deep inside him, a place of fear and bitterness and grief that he had plugged with the love of his six friends—six friends, how pathetic was that? After laying dormant for so long, it _burned_ as he sprinted for the grayish light at the end of the maze.

The cold, sheer wind of the moor did nothing to bring him back into his body as he collapsed onto a small rock in the midst of the heather, buried his face in his arms, and cried for the first time he could remember.

He cried for his parents, for the love he never felt and the fact that they were really, truly gone. He cried for his long journey, where he clung to Peter Pettigrew’s temporary friendship as the sneers of the other children reinforced his walls. He cried for the true friends he had found at Griffin Manor that made those walls crumble until he was soft and vulnerable and free.

He didn’t want to be left behind again. Not now.

“Sirius?” His uncle’s voice was quiet against the howling wind as he knelt in front of him. “Why are you out here by yourself?”

“I wasn’t wanted,” he mumbled.

“What wasn’t wanted?”

“Th-the garden. It wasn’t wanted.” He slowly raised his head from his knees and tried in vain to pull himself together.

“You’re right,” Fleamont said, soft and soothing as he brushed a stray tear from Sirius’ cheek. There was no judgement on his face, no pity. “I never wanted to see it again.”

“You never wanted to see James, either,” Sirius snapped and instantly felt guilty. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You brought us back to life, Sirius. You did the impossible.”

“Will you shut it up again?”

“Never.” Fleamont looked him in the eye and Sirius knew what he really meant. The embers cooled.

“Can I—can I stay, then?”

“As long as you will have us, James and I want you here,” his uncle promised. “And as long as you would like, the garden is yours. You saved it. You saved _us_.”

Sirius fell into his open arms and held him close, and he felt the steady beat of _we will not leave you_ in his chest. Another set of arms encircled them as James joined the hug, squeezing them tight. “Come on, Padfoot. What do you think McGonagall’s going to say when she sees me up and walking?”

Fleamont pulled back and looked between them. “She doesn’t know?”

“It was supposed to stay a secret until you came home and saw,” Sirius explained, scrubbing the last of the tears from his face. “ _Somebody_ wanted it to stay a surprise.”

“Oh, that poor woman.”

“Hey, Moony!” James shouted to Remus, who stood by the entrance to the maze, petting his white pony’s neck. “Fancy a race back to the house?”

“Sure,” he said as he hopped onto its back and winked down at Sirius. “Do you want a head start?”

“You are such a cheater!” James protested as he trotted away, laughing.

“What do the nicknames mean?” Fleamont asked, visibly confused.

“Long story,” they said in unison as James helped him to his feet.

After a harrowing competition for second place that Sirius won by a long shot, they were met with a chorus of gasps and shouts from the crowd that had gathered at the kitchen windows. Lily was leaning halfway out one of the windows, talking to Remus, and her jaw dropped as the three of them emerged from the maze. “Hi, Lily!” Sirius called, waving to her. She beamed and waved both her arms in the air, laughing as James nearly sent them both tumbling with an impromptu piggyback ride.

Poor McGonagall nearly collapsed on the back porch, smiling wider than Sirius had ever seen her as she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. Without the stress and stern scowl, she actually looked quite friendly.

As Sirius ran toward Griffin Manor with his best friend on his back, his uncle laughing behind them, and Remus just ahead, he knew Lucius Malfoy had never been more wrong. A whole host of people wanted him, and they loved him for exactly who he was. His garden was blooming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End.
> 
> After several months of work, an entire 5-subject notebook filled with the handwritten first draft, and 72 pages of typing, it's complete. My hand is numb and my heart is full.
> 
> To all those who have commented/ left kudos: you have my endless gratitude. This story would not have been as fun to share nor would I have had the motivation to continue publishing it without your help.
> 
> To all the readers (yes, you): I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did! It's been such a journey and I have had the best time putting my love for gardens into this long, long project. It's the first long fic I've done in a while, and all the support meant the world to me!

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on Tumblr! My username is @wayward-demigod-witch, since I was young and awkward when I made it and I’m too lazy to change it!


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